#namely the word “oops” and there suddenly being quite a lot of blood coming out of my arm and not going in a tube

[lichen-soup-scribe]

I get nervous when I get my blood drawn, so this time I decided to brainstorm some affirmations with the phlebotomist, as a bit. I came up with the following:

"I am so full of blood"

and

"Draculas love me"

then the needle went in and I woke up on the floor

[astrumark]

── GIVE ME THAT LITTLE BIT OF SATISFACTION ★.

PAIRING: aemond targaryen x female reader.

SUMMARY: aemond needs your assistance after a battle, in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: blood, curse words, smut with plot, use of coconut oil as lube, hand-job, p in v, tits sucking, multiple orgasms, creampie, a hint of sub aemond? oops? :3

WC: 5.3K

NOTES: obviously this is my take on what happened after rook's rest. the show's approach next year will definitely be different. but it's fun working with the book's events and its lack of minor details (you can fill it in however you wish!).

Your eyes flutter open with a jump, a firm hand gripping your shoulder. You didn't remember when you had fallen asleep, or what hour it was, but certainly wasn't the time for your shift yet. It takes a few seconds for your cloudy vision to focus on where you were, now noticing the older servant in front of you, and you look at her dazedly.

"The prince has just arrived, and requests your presence," Annabel explains.

Aemond. Immediate relief washes over you as your face softens. "Very well."

You leave the servants' quarters as fast as you can after fixing your appearance, and as you walk through the halls, you notice the castle is way too agitated. Tension and seriousness ripple in the air, and you start to feel uneasy as well, mind fumbling with numberless possibilities.

It's one of the gold cloaks that finally speaks a little louder, talking fervently about the victory of the greens at the battle of Rook's Rest. It had been quite a few days since their army had marched, and news was often shared about their progression. Usually, you tend to avoid it, since most of it makes you feel sick in your stomach.

Besides the armored man, there is no more commemoration or sense of victory. Not on this side of the castle, at least. Lords were probably planning on throwing banquets, but people like you are too aware of the damages of the war, and how at the end of the day the smallfolk suffer the most. Countless common people would die in the name of greedy royalty that know no limits to their ambition, families ruined beyond repair, a ravaging hunger was plaguing the poorest, and the coffers would soon be emptied, money being spent on battles other than improving the realm and making life easier. It's obvious how no good could ever come regardless of the result of the war.

You find Annabel again, shouting order after order, the middle-aged woman was the one in charge of the servants for a good while now and was a reliable source of information.

"What happened?" You approach her.

"A lot happened, child." Her tone is somber.

"Did someone die?" What a foolish question. Not just someone, but hundreds.

"The queen who never was and her dragon."

You grimace, reminiscing about the princess back when she was visiting the Red Keep. Although such casualties are expected during the war, it is still difficult to grasp that the imposing woman is dead. It's fearful how one's life could be ripped from them so suddenly. A paralyzing concern floods you. Aemond being back does not mean he is unharmed.

"Has the prince been hurt?" Your voice falters, your heart pounding with fear.

Annabel's gaze flickers to your face, and you could see her disapproval, almost making you wish to recoil. But she would never say a thing about your unusual closeness with the prince, being unlike her to intrude in personal affairs. You are aware she doesn't like Aemond or any of the royals, but then again very few did. You have grown to understand it was not only because of his eye, or lack thereof, but because he simply did not inspire sympathy. Aemond is stoic, defensive, and difficult to relate to. You were only one of the very few lucky enough to know better.

"The prince is fine," Annabel says and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "However, it is said the king is in critical condition, it is not known if he will recover, and his dragon is unable to fly, one of his wings was damaged during the fight."

You gasp, in your slumber you have forgotten about the man, not being concerned about him in the slightest. Anyhow, you feel your mind almost melting as you process the shocking news and the aftermath of it. If the king were to perish, that means Aemond would be regent until his nephew is of ideal age. Seven. "Poor Sunfyre."

Annabel tries to scold you, but the amusement behind her blue eyes is hard to conceal. "You are pitying the dragon, not the king?"

"Well, people have the free will of choice, and are aware of the consequences their actions might have… a dragon can only obey their rider's command, isn't it right?"

"We cannot say. These magical creatures are beyond our comprehension."

You ponder. "That is true."

After the quick conversation, you make your way to one of the huge kitchens, assuming the prince would probably fancy a bath. Warming up buckets of water, you carry them to Maegor's Holdfast with the help of three other servants.

A strong smell of blood and smoke fills your nose as you enter his quarters, and your eyes widen. The expensive rug is stained and marked by large boots, and even more astounding is the prince's appearance.

Aemond is lounging on a chair close to his study table. His face and hair are covered by blood, ash, and dirt, and splatters of dried blood stains his black and gold armor. His braids are loose, and you can even notice some twigs tangled in his silver strands. However, the prince's hands are the most distressing, gloves discarded at some point and almost fully covered by the red liquid. With a frown, you deduce it must be from his brother's injury. He looks haunting, almighty, and ruthless. There's a scowl on his face, though his eyes seem perturbed.

You notice how the servants' hands seem to tremble slightly as they pour the water into the bathtub in the next room, their eyes never daring to look up while adding some essential oils and chamomile herbs to the water as well, however, you cannot share their fear. All you wish to do is reach out and comfort him. Leaving one of the buckets outside the bathroom, you can see from the corner of your eyes the one-eyed man dismissing the other servants with a wave of a hand, and they seem eager to oblige. You kneel in front of him.

"I am glad you are well," You squeeze his knees. "And tremendously sorry for your brother."

Aemond does not respond, and his gaze is piercing as he stares at you as if memorizing each detail of your face. You don't look away either, a comfortable but powerful silence pairing between the two of you. His fingers slowly graze your cheek, and you do not mind the blood, eyes closing with the delicate caress.

"Help me undress, will you?"

You nod, aware he was never one to talk in deep about his emotions and thoughts, to allow himself to be vulnerable. Nonetheless, you've been noticing this quietness getting worse ever since Storm's End, and although concerned, you would not push him. Especially because you weren't even aware of the extent of your relationship. That he has a certain tenderness for you is clear, but the amount of liberties you could take with the royal is not as much.

Carefully undoing his heavy armor, the pieces fall to the ground with a whump, and the clothes underneath are a lot easier to deal with. His defined body slowly comes into view, a few goosebumps arising on his bare skin with the sudden lack of materials. Aemond's nakedness is of no surprise to you, though you could never help but admire him. Grabbing a cloth you wet it in the bucket nearby and start to clean his face first, hoping to get rid of the thicker layers of dirt before starting the bath.

Your touch is light, afraid to harshly rub any scratches, big or small. "Are you hurt in any way?"

Aemond shakes his head. "None of the blood is mine," He says. "It's from the princess and my brother, and their dragons. I believe some from Lord Staunton and his garrison as well."

You shudder with discomfort and drift your attention to cleaning his hands, the cloth immediately being painted red, you discard it for another as you move to the other hand. You've always enjoyed tending to him.

His hair comes next, and you take off his eyepatch. Undoing the braids is quick, long accustomed to it, though his strands are now sticking and smelling terribly, like a pan that spent too much time on fire, simply nose scrunching and suffocating. Aemond moves his head side to side with a growl after you are done, the bones of his neck cracking.

The prince sighs pleasantly as he enters the tub, and you grab a bowl to wet his hair. The silver strands get soaped quickly as you massage his scalp with both hands, his good eye close, and the sapphire twinkles.

After washing it, you fetch another soap bar, one that the merchant guaranteed you was special, something about adding more oils while making it. There was no harm in trying, and you were surprised by how such a thing made his hair healthier, not as dry which means fewer cuts, and more tamed and lustrous. His strands instantly become more emollient as you run the soap along the length.

Aemond seems completely unbothered as you get to scrub his body, the fine hairs covering his arms and legs so light it's barely visible. It's, in fact, a moment of relaxation and customariness, a routine for both of you. But the water is already dirty and gray by now, and you cannot help but recall it's not only ashes and dirt but also the mixed blood of people and beasts alike. Some perished.

You do not notice the silver-haired staring at you until he speaks. "You do not seem very pleased."

You raise your eyebrows. "Is there something to be pleased about?"

"Is there not?" He squints his eye. "We have just won a battle."

"Congratulations."

"Your sincerity is appreciated." His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "You know you can speak freely with me." He studies your face.

You bite your lips, focusing on the task at hand and adding more soap to the scrubber. The prince would never understand your point, so you would rather avoid a useless discussion. Especially today.

Unfortunately, he doesn't give up, cocking his head. "What is restraining you from doing so? Are you disgusted? Would you prefer me to not have killed all those cunty traitors?" His voice is low, dangerous. "Would you prefer to have that whore sitting on the throne? Is that the reason for your unpleasantness? Do you believe she's more suitable than my brother? Than me?"

You look at him sternly, the scrubber falling to the water with a splash. His face is now a lot closer to yours, but he does not intimidate you, never did, and probably never will. But he hits a nerve, and your mouth moves even before you could notice you were speaking.

"I would prefer your family to resolve the succession issue in another way other than submitting the kingdom to a devastating war with horrendous consequences, for all of you certainly, as proved by your nephew's death and older brother's injury now, but mostly, innocent people that have nothing to do with your schemes." Your voice holds a cold rage. "That is my opinion if it's of any importance to you, but I highly doubt it."

Aemond scoffs, shaking his head and averting his eye for a minute. His finger rests on top of his mouth, and there's still blood underneath his nails. He inhales to control his annoyance. He looks like he's going to say something, but then changes his mind, closing his lips and opting for another choice of words.

"You would not understand it, as a commoner." He looks at you up and down, not with the usual desire, but with a hint of superiority now, clear in how the corner of his lips twitches upward dismissively.

You are quick to respond. "Nor would you, as a prince."

Deafening silence. You have a good point, the drastic difference in your backgrounds would never let you completely understand one another's views and priorities. Aemond sighs.

"You are lucky I am fond of you." A truce.

You chuckle. "And I do not dislike you entirely."

The prince smiles, tight-lipped, but it is lovely, showing off his beautiful dimples. The rest of the bath goes calmly as you resume the chore. You wrap his hair in a cotton towel, and his body in a linen one. You leave the prince to dry himself while you make your way to the bedchamber, gathering loose mud green trousers and some shea butter.

The one-eyed stands in his full glory as you spread the product all over his lean body. Back, arms, chest, and stomach, then his legs. When you get up from your kneeling position, his hand wraps around your neck swiftly, bringing your body forward and kissing you.

You return it immediately, deep and eager. However, it's also contemplative and cozy, almost lazy as you taste one another. Your hand rests on his forearm, the softness and warmth of his lips never failing to get you weak on the knees, and he smells great now, fresh. Your eyes seem unable to open as you get lost in the small kisses and teases.

"Do not resent me, beauty." He says as you part.

You smile against his mouth, you thought it was precious when he got like this, clingy in his way. It was only on these rare occasions that he let his pride and loftiness aside, and would do everything to prevent you from being upset with him. Seeking your comfort in such an intense manner it was flattering.

A verbal answer doesn't leave your lips, you just kiss him again, and it's enough. "Get dressed and sit down." You motion to the dressing table, throwing the trousers at him.

You comb his hair delicately, adding some sunflower oil to his scalp before braiding his damp hair, he prefers it this way, claiming it was the only way it wouldn't get tangled up in the morning. You start from his very root, sectioning small amounts of silver hair and crossing them over in between your fingers, slowly but surely creating a beautiful and tight pattern. It's not a fast process, but you delight in it and you suspect so does the man in front of you, almost purring as you work. Tying the end of it, you rub his shoulders affectionately, his skin always warm beneath your palms.

"I am sore," Aemond complains. "A massage would be great."

You grin, pecking his cheek from behind. "As you wish, my Prince."

He is truly very tense, and you cannot fathom how distressing all that he witnessed is. You suppose it was a life-changing experience, in the worst way possible. It was clear how his eye hardened considerably in a short time. You would have surely run to the hills in his place, but he doesn't. He breathes and keeps his composure, hiding away all his fright, pretending to be indifferent, that he accepts his duty and the price of it gladly. But nobody would, less they lacked emotions.

Aemond lays down on his stomach, folding his arms above his head. Grabbing a bottle of coconut oil from the table, you take off your shoes and raise your dress to your knees before crawling on the bed to sit on top of his butt.

His body jolts as you drip a generous amount of oil on his large back, his muscles flexing. His body is so magnificent you could easily imagine a greater force meticulously creating each detail of it. Aemond moans the moment your hands start to caress his lower back. Your first touches are gentle, tracing circles up and down with your fingertips, mapping where you can feel some knots. Your hands move from his sides, to his shoulders, and up to the back of his neck, pinching it slightly.

"Fuck," Aemond grunts, voice muffled by the mattress. "This feels nice."

You add more pressure, stroking his back up and down, and after a few minutes back to tracing firm circles, this time with the heel of your hand. The prince is unable to contain noises of pleasure. Laying one of your hands on top of the other, you start the process of pushing his spine, once again beginning down and going up. A few cracks are heard.

Then, you add gentle pressure with your thumbs on his knots, his grunts are now a little bit more uncomfortable, but it's necessary. After you are done, you softly knead his back up and down, and then start switching between circling and stroking.

Aemond's moans along with the feel of his skin start to alight a desire in you, your lower stomach tingling in a known and annoying manner, womanhood pulsating with each new sound. It doesn't help how your filthy encounters had been becoming less frequent, the prince growing too busy with the war, and often you would feel bothered and insatiable.

It's unconscious the way you start rubbing on him, trying to relieve the ache you feel, and you do not realize what you are doing until he grips your thigh, halting your tentative movements at once.

"Stop teasing." He warns.

You stammer, a bit embarrassed. "I'm not, I–"

Suddenly you are pinned down by the prince, your positions switched as you utter your confusion by the suddenness. You should've been used to his strength and fast reflexes by now. "Do you deem your behavior acceptable?"

You swallow, trying not to smile, and feign innocence. "I have no clue what you are talking about."

"Oh, yes? You are unaware you were rubbing yourself on me like a bitch in heat?"

"I would never do that, my Prince."

"You would never…?" He chuckles, feeling amused.

"During my work? No." You shake your head in denial.

"So, if I touch your cunt right now, you would not be wet?" He cocks his head.

You bite your lips. "Not at all."

"Forgive me for not believing your words, but I shall need proof." Aemond's hand sneaks under your dress, fingers moving slowly from your shin to your thigh, his eye never leaving yours, daring.

You giggle when his finger parts your folds, rubbing the dampness between your legs. You buck your hips, in need of more friction.

"Liar." Aemond disregards with a click of his tongue, his pupil blown out as he circles your bud.

"Aemond." You gasp, eyes closing.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes, I've been taking care of you so well..." You try to negotiate.

"But I deserve so much more attention, don't you agree?" He kisses and licks your collarbone, finger never faltering, teasing.

"More?" Your breath is labored, and your voice is weak. His hand leaves your heat.

"I have killed a whole other dragon. It is not frequently one can say it. Yes, I believe I am due special treatment." He faces you again.

"I see," You grin. "You want me to do all the work?" Your lips brush his. "Such an idle prince." You provoke.

"Watch your mouth," He warns, pecking you. "I am merely tired. It's been eventful."

"Conveniently for you, I am feeling generous today." Your hands trail his bare waist.

"You are?" He smirks, nose touching yours.

"Uh-huh, and very happy you are unscathed."

"Show me, then," Aemond kisses your jaw. "Just how grateful you are."

The kiss you share is lecherous, wet, and rushed. Aemond does not fight you as you flip your bodies over and climb onto his lap, an evident bulge in the thin trousers that contours all of his cock tantalizingly. Even the clothed friction makes you both shudder, and you gather all of your strength to not start instantly grinding on his shaft.

You pull his trousers down, and his manhood springs free. Big, thick, veiny. Dripping coconut oil on your hands, you rub them together. Aemond wets his lips in anticipation.

Your hand slides through his length with no difficulty with the help of the oil, and the smell of it is delicious. You start jerking him off, and the prince hums in satisfaction.

Aemond wasn't the most vocal in bed, you realized it soon into your affair, but with time you had discovered the exceptions, the things that would make him forget all about his inhibitions and scream in pleasure.

After stroking him for a while, you cup one of your hands, very slowly circling his tip with the palm of your oily hand, fingertips dragging up and down his length while you do so. Aemond breathes sharply, his stomach twitching.

"Seven hells, love." He mutters with a tight hold on the sheets due to his sensitivity. You smile.

You focus on your fingertips, running them up and down his shaft lightly. Aemond adored the delicacy of the movement, the gentle yet torturous pressure, promising and unforgiving, kind and cruel. Then you circle his head again, again, and again. Careful to not hurt him. Aemond grunts, his eyebrows pinching together and face completely flushed as he bites his lips harshly, trying to hold back his moans, but you know it won't last long.

"Stop, it 's too much." He whines, but the delighted sound that escapes his mouth tells you to do anything but, his body trembling.

"Aw," You coo mockingly. "We know you can take it, my Prince."

You add more oil to your hands, holding his length and rotating your wrist as your palm rubs over his tip and shaft over and over. He completely let go as he closes his eye, his grunts being replaced by enchanting high-pitched and broken moans. It's quite pathetic the sight of him, the mighty and fearsome prince so supple on your hands, forehead glistening with sweat and breath erratic. Anyone outside could hear him.

"My love, please." He begs in the middle of whimpers, all of his body hair stirred up.

"Please what, my dear?" You ask innocently.

Aemond squirms. "I need to come," He gasps. "Please, please, please."

"Since you asked so nicely…"

You change the movement, keeping it only on his sensitive head, your other hand squeezing his balls. His voice gets louder, face twisted in pleasure as a tear falls down his gorgeous face, violet iris shining bright. You can feel your cunt soaked and throbbing achingly with the view.

He comes in a silent scream, hips bucking as hot loads of his spend fall into your hand and his shaft. You spread some of it around his length, still jerking him off as you help him ride out of his peak, the prince's body spasming.

"That's it," You praise him. "Good boy."

Aemond's breath is heavy as you find his lips, and he struggles to follow your pace, but he tries anyway, messy and urging. "Now you are going to be even nicer and let me use your cock, won't you?" You whisper.

His eye is lidded as he stares at you and nods, and you cannot resist the urge to press two sticky fingers to his curved lips, Aemond opens his mouth with no resistance, licking your hand clean. He's so compliant, somehow still lost in the void between the extraordinary bliss and the present moment.

"Anything for you." He mutters.

You grin. "That is what I like to hear."

Even if not necessarily frequent, happening mostly when he was worn-out or glum, it was rather obvious how letting someone of your position have control over him in bed, one of the very few situations in which you could be so blunt and disrespectful to a high-born, aroused the prince more than he would ever admit, a time in which he could forget about his obligations and just be good to you.

It doesn't take long into your kissing until you can feel him growing hard again, hands eagerly grabbing the hem of your dark red dress and pulling it up around your waist.

"Stupid dress." He complains in between lustful kisses, struggling to get rid of the clothing.

You laugh and help him take it off, throwing your apron and the dress somewhere around his quarters. Aemond instantly latches onto your right breast once you are fully naked, tongue hot and wet twirling around your nipple, and making you shiver and mewl as he sucks it into his mouth as if he is starved, your hand pulling at his braided hair.

Too impatient and greedy, you push him back on the mattress, positioning his member on your wet and tight entrance before lowering yourself down on it. You both moan at the stretch. It is spellbinding the way he watches you on top of him, making you feel like the most desired person in existence, his hands on your hips tightly.

You feel so full and excited you could almost see stars, the position has always been one of your favorites, his cock being able to reach just the right spots in this way.

"Seven, you feel perfect inside me." You gasp, grinding back and forward, your lungs clenching with the sudden and powerful wave of pleasure, so strong it is maddening.

Aemond growls, his body jolting with the motion. "You are a fucking witch, woman."

"For knowing exactly how to deal with you? I might as well be." You grin viciously, your hands resting on his chest.

Your eyes close as you rock your hips slowly and sensually, strained moans already leaving your mouth, and your bud brushing over his pubic bone makes you tremble. It's doubtless the best sensation you have ever felt, his cock dragging against your walls marvelously.

"Fuck, you fit me so well," You say out of breath, fastening your grinding. "Always so good for me, aren't you?"

You lean over slightly, pressing yourself more to him as you begin to bounce on his cock restlessly, the sinful noises echoing in the chamber only increasing your pleasure.

Aemond whimpers, both by the change of the movement and your words. "Always good for you, my love." He repeats, choking out.

Aemond's hands come to grip your ass desperately, certainly to leave bruises later, but now it's nothing but motivating for you.

He suddenly sits you both up, mouth finding one of your breasts again, saliva coating it as he plays with your nipple with tongue and teeth with no care. The sensitivity makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Delightful yet torturous whimpers on your lips as you continue to ride him mercilessly.

Sweat covers almost all of your body, and you feel as if you were burning from the inside out, the prince not looking any different, his cheeks and nose terribly reddened. You don't even care about the slight throbbing of your legs getting tired, or for the man you were fucking anymore, simply focused on the building of that rapture that feels so close yet so far. Your hold on his shoulders is firm beyond pleasant, but you assume his mind is elsewhere, and not in how your nails are breaking his pale skin.

You needed this badly and you knew you wouldn't last long. The knot inside you tightens hazardously, and you furrow your eyebrows, your bouncing getting even more frenetic. However, as good as it feels, you are growing overwhelmed as you ache for a release that's taking too long to come, somewhat stuck in a sadic joy. You whine out of glee and anticipation, too fucking eager.

"Don't stop, love," Aemond says with a groan, letting go of your breast with a pop to give attention to the other, his sucking sloppy as you pull at his hair harshly. You moan.

Not even in a thousand years you would dare to. When the long-awaited white-hot pleasure slams your body, you feel like ascending to the seven heavens itself. It's astoundingly overpowering at first and then diminishes in ripples as your heart drums painfully inside your chest, cunt fluttering around his member.

Your breath is heavy as you slow down, shivering and a little weary. Aemond moans while watching you come on his cock, and fortunately, he seems disposed to help you as he lays down again, bringing your body flush against his. He seems very roused as he impales you with his cock from beneath, growling into your ears while his hands squeeze your ass possessively.

You whine due to overstimulation, his thrusts are relentless, and the squelching sounds more prominent with how much you soaked his cock not too long ago. You are unsure if you want him to finish already or just keep using your cunt as he wishes regardless of your comfort, and the sheer thought of it inflames you.

It's surprising how fast it comes back, that burning and expectation in your lower stomach, apparently even stronger now. All that was not him and his cock in your womanhood is long forgotten. Blood rushes hot in your veins, high-pitched mewls and low grunts blending.

"By the Seven, Aemond." You hide your face in the crook of his neck, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

"Can you give me another one?" Aemond pounds into you harder, the smell of the shea butter and coconut oil from earlier consuming you. "I want to give you another one, beauty. I want to make you feel exceptionally good, yes?"

You try to respond to him but you just babble, teeth biting into the conjecture of his neck and shoulder, painting it red and purple, too dumbfounded to think or to measure your strength. But it seems your bites only incite the silver-haired more, his shoves faster and his groans broken.

One of his hands circles your waist securely to lock you in place, no falter in his thrusts. The wave of elation that suddenly crashes down over you is potent, numbing all your senses for a few seconds, but you are certain you must be screaming as you squirm. Your legs shake tremendously and your eyelids feel heavier.

Your second peak and the clenching of your cunt send Aemond over the edge. He bucks his hips, stilling inside you as he comes with a prolonged and deep grunt, head tilted back and lips parted. You didn't know what good action guaranteed you the privilege to see such a beautiful thing. Getting off him as he tries to regain his breath, a good amount of his warm seed drips in between your thighs, walls spinning as you feel quite faint.

Your back hits the fluffy mattress, your heart pounding in your ears and black dots cover your vision, which is slightly blurry. Shutting your eyes, you could not say how much time has passed as you recompose yourself and wait for your skin to cool down, but when you do, you are shocked to see the prince already soundly asleep next to you, mouth hung open as exhaustion had finally caught up to him after the latest events and your passionate indulgence.

Chuckling, you roll to your side as you watch him, his expression for once serene and breath even. You trace your finger gently across his straight eyebrow while appreciating the details of his face. The concern comes back to torment you as you wonder what the future has reserved for him, but you try to brush it off. You could only pray for his safety.

You recall the first time you saw him sleeping, it was quite unnerving, only the sapphire shining brightly while his good eye rested, but now the gemstone staring back at you was not only usual but comforting, a unique and enchanting charm in your opinion.

After getting up, you grab a cloth to clean the two of you, and although with a drowsy complaint from him, you manage to tuck the one-eyed in warm sheets. You put on your servant robes again and organize the mess you could deal with at the moment, gathering his armor as quietly as you can to be cleaned later. Pecking his pinkish lips slowly, you exit his quarters, feeling completely satisfied.

TAGS: @godrakin @m1ndbrand ♡⋆˙

[metalheadcowboy]

What about Steve’s parents not being for or against Billy and Steve‘s relationship but his brother being extremely against it

“Y’know, what ever happened to that girl you dated in high school? Natalie… or, uh, … Norah, or-“

”Nancy,” Steve mumbled around his mouthful of green beans, hand not holding the fork holding up his head to keep it from falling forehead-first onto his plate.

“Nancy! Yes! That’s right!” This had to have been the third time in the past ten minutes that his brother had brought up one of his ex’s and Steve knew it was on purpose.

“She was a real catch, Stevie,” Samuel spoke with a hyena like grin that reminded him a lot of Tommy’s, but different in all the wrong ways, “Nice, respectful, damn pretty too, boy would you two have made some cute kids.”

”Couldn’t have been all that great if you couldn’t even remember her name, Sam“ Steve pointed out with a tired lift of his eyebrows, not even caring about the ‘oops’-like shrug his brother gave to him in response.

He would say this dinner was going to shit, if it hadn’t already started there to begin with.

He should have known it was a bad idea to come back. Things we’re going so good for them right now. Billy was finally able to land a stable job as a mechanic at a local auto body shop, Steve was working as a part-time teaching assistant at a small private school near their apartment, and they were even looking at houses together.

But it seemed he’d gotten so caught up in the joy and excitement of everything, he missed all the red flags waving right in his face when it came to this situation. So much so that for a second he couldn’t even find a negative to returning to Hawkins after five years of being away.

Boy, was he being hit in the face with reality now.

“You had it good, Steve, you had it made-“

”Are you saying what I have with Billy isn’t good?” Steve accused, though it wasn’t really an accusation because he heard it with his own two ears.

Suddenly he was a lot more interested in the topic of conversation, sitting up with an expression of almost disbelief.

”Look, all I’m saying is that I didn’t expect you of all people to be a… y’know…” Samuel hinted and at this point Steve’s blood was boiling.

”A what?” Steve growled, catching his fathers attention.

”Steven-“ And he’d had always hated his full name for this exact reason, because only his family referred to him that way.

”No, really dad, let him say it,” he insisted, staring daggers into his brother from across the table, Samuel looking oddly unphased.

”Quite frankly, a fag.” It was the way he didn’t even seem to hesitate when Steve gave him the okay. The way that he was so sure and almost seemly proud when the word left his mouth that made Steve drop his defenses in a mix of shock and hurt.

He knew it was coming and still he wasn’t prepared for the hurt that that the word carried coming from someone who he thought, or at least used to think, would never intentionally hurt him.

Had he been so wrong.

“I’m leaving,” Steve announced abruptly before anyone else could pick up on his pain.

He snatched his blazer from the back of his chair and threw it over his shoulder before making a bee-line towards the door.

“Steven, please!” And there was that name again.

“Dinner was great mom, really,” he spoke from the entry way, “See you again in another five years?”

Steve pulled the front door open and stepped through it with force, with purpose. But just before he closed it he stuck his head back through, met with with his distraught mother and disappointed father, “Maybe make that ten.”

He left. Without another word he slammed the door, got in his car, and peeled out of the neighborhood without looking back.

And he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, and that it would be at least a three hour drive, but all that was worth knowing he wouldn’t have to spend another second inside of that suffocating house.

When he did get home he was met with a dark living room, the only light illuminating the space being the one above their sink in their small kitchenette, the one they always kept on.

He could cry with how safe he felt here, in much contrast to how he felt in his childhood home.

Not wanting to waste another second, he threw his blazer lazily onto their beat up couch, threw off his loafers by the front door, and quickly unbuttoned his shirt as he made his way back into his and Billy’s bedroom.

Carefully, Steve set down his keys on his nightstand as he went to unbuckle his belt, button up forgotten by the doorway.

It was honestly a miracle Billy hadn’t woken up yet, but then again he had been a deep sleeper as of recently. He could still remember the days when they first moved in of Billy jolting awake at any small sound whether it be an ambulance passing by or their neighbors talking far too loud. And he guess he could take a little, or a lot, of credit for that.

Once Steve‘s pants were finally kicked off he slid into bed, lifted up the duvet and crawled right under, basking in the warmth his fiancé welcomed him with.

Almost instantly his face nuzzled into the back of Billy’s neck, nose peaking through tangled curls to catch a whiff of Billy’s fading cologne from the day before mixing with the smell of his sun kissed skin. He was pretty sure he would bottle this exact scent up if he were given the chance.

Slowly, Steve’s hand slid over Billy’s solid ribs, stopping when it met the jagged scar it knew all so well.

“Mmm,” Billy groaned, shifting a little in his sleep before actually being conscious enough to form words, “Steve?”

Steve smiled against the top notch of his spine, “Thought you weren’t supposed to be home til tomorrow.”

”Yeah, well, let’s just say I missed ya,” he mumbled against warm skin, practically feeling the eye roll Billy was giving him through closed lids.

”Yeah, whatever, you fucking cheese ball,” Billy teased, earning his right nipple a soft, playful squeeze, “Everything go alright?“

And that was the one question Steve had been hoping not to get, “Uh,” he faltered for a second, “Yeah, everything went just peachy, don’t you worry big guy.”

It could wait til morning, now was their time.

“Good,” Billy’s fingers laced with Steve’s own, palm to palm as a soft kiss was planted to the pale surface of Steve‘s hand, “‘Night handsome.”

”Goodnight, Bills.”

————

name suggestion for Steve‘s brother by @wint3r-b0y, tysm :))) <3

[redorich]

For the canyon au, what would happen if one of the hermits got hurt during a scout? Like, if etho is out scouting, something happens, and he’s unable to message the hermits or get help. Would he be willing to be seen? Would any smpers besides Puffy help him?

Zedaph didn't mean to leave the canyon, honest! He was just looking for a sheep of his own for a completely ethical experiment involving pistons and a perfectly reasonable quantity of peanut butter, thank you very much. He wasn’t about to steal a sheep from someone else’s farm, and for some reason sheep don’t tend to spawn at bedrock level. So really, he had no choice!

Zedaph is rethinking a lot of his decisions. He’s also wondering if he left the jump-powered stove on. Then he remembers that it’s jump-powered, and as he is not currently jumping on it, it is most likely unpowered. Unfortunately, it seems as though Zedaph is going to be eating a lot of cold food for a while if he makes it out of this alive, because he’s not going to be jumping on anything with a broken leg.

Despite his punishment for trying to take a cross-section of something that he now knows is probably sentient (oops), he can’t help but want to go back, to learn more. What is the rate of growth of those red vines? Are they all from the same plant? Are they actually sentient, or is the crimson kudzu in possession of an automatic response to attempted harm? Did the vine know it was hitting him off a ledge which would break his leg, or did it just know “whack human away from vine”? Would the vines taste good in soup? Are they flammable? Could Zedaph theoretically knit a fashionable sweater out of them, and if so would the sweater be capable of independent movement?

He is torn from his musings of a wriggly evil sweater by another thrum of pain. He hisses. There’s... more blood than is advisable. Outside of his leg, that is. Inside his leg is likely less than the advisable amount of blood, and come to think of it, his head’s probably a bit empty as well, seeing as how he’s having so much trouble thinking straight-- well, straight for him. His jumps in logic are incomprehensible to most on a good day, but right now even he can’t follow his own thought process. What was he thinking about again?

Ah yes. The overwhelming pain from being yeeted off a ledge. Come to think of it, the ledge he fell off-- the one he’s sitting leaned against-- is shaped awfully unusually. It must be manmade. Whoever made this is not a good terraformer. Zedaph should bake Scar some cookies. Is Scar allergic to peanuts? Ow. Ow. Ow. Zedaph will need to borrow Impulse’s oven-- or he could set up his own oven with an armor stand that jumps for him?

“Hey there, who are you?” says a female voice. Zedaph looks up. He doesn’t have to look very far up.

Standing in front of him is a woman with a cool pirate-looking coat (red, of course; all self-respecting pirates wear red), with long fluffy hair like white wool and rainbow fringe! Oh, and she’s, like, half sheep or something. That’s cool too.

Wait. There’s something about sheep he’s forgetting... How could he have been so stupid?! He came to the surface in the first place in search of a sheep, and now he’s (kind of) found one!

The cool pirate lady says something, but Zedaph-- well, he does hear it, but it doesn’t process. Words are just mouth-sounds. He is in pain.

“Found a sheep,” he mumbles, “Come back to the canyon?”

“You’re hurt, man,” the sheep-pirate-lady says. She has pretty rainbow hair, and the white parts look like clouds.

She laughs. “Thanks.”

Clearly, this woman is a mind-reader! As well as a sheep. Really, two for the price of one. Zedaph isn’t quite sure what to do with a mind-reader, but his head will be much clearer and therefore able to dream up wacky hypotheses once he respawns--

He gasps, jerking forward and choking on his own breath when he remembers the cold truth. Xisuma won’t be able to respawn him, not for several days. Zedaph doesn’t want to spend that long in the void.

“Woah!” the woman exclaims, rushing to steady him. “You look pretty bad, dude. Let’s get you home or something. Where do you live?”

“Canyon,” Zedaph rasps. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, I don’t think. Can’t remember why.”

The nice woman goes very still. “Hey. My name’s Puffy. I’m gonna take you to the canyon. Do you think you can stand if I help you?”

“Puffy..?” Zedaph squints off into the middle distance, trying to remember something. “She’s the person who keeps coming back to that barrel, isn’t she?”

Puffy pulls Zedaph’s arm over her shoulder and gently pulls him up to his feet. “She is,” Puffy says softly.

“I hope she liked the enchanted diamond shears,” he mumbles.

“She did,” Puffy says softly. “She didn’t even know diamond shears were a thing.”

“I was going to make an emerald flint and steel,” Zedaph rambles, “but it turns out that items made of flint and steel aren’t conducive to being made of not-flint and not-steel."

"Who would have thought?" Puffy laughs, then trips over a vine. Zedaph makes a pained noise at the jostle to his leg, which is dragging a bit on the ground because Puffy is so much shorter than him. She notices this, and rethinks her strategy.

"At this rate, we'll never get back to the canyon," she gripes. "Climb on my back instead, I'll carry you."

Zedaph obliges, but warns, "Tango says I'm heavy.”

“I’m stronger than Tango, I’ll bet.”

The Hermit is actually a bit heavy, but this is a matter of pride now. And also, quite possibly a matter of urgency. The Hermit isn’t responding anymore. He’s still holding on, so he isn’t dead or completely unconscious; still, he’s not in a good state.

As soon as the elevator down to the bottom of the canyon comes into view, Puffy books it. Surely, in the canyon base, the Hermit will have healing potions? He (They? Multiple Hermits?) gave her a whole beacon, so obviously he/they are late-game enough to have plenty of potions.

Stepping into the elevator, Puffy presses the button, then puts her hand on the Hermit’s neck. It’s a bit of an awkward position, since his chin is hanging over her shoulder, but it makes her feel better to have a hand on his pulse. He makes a pitiful noise as the elevator descends.

“Easy there,” Puffy says, “you’re almost home.”

The moment the doors open, she ventures out into the village. The only safe place she knows is the barrel where she leaves her items for the Hermit(s), so she takes him there. Now that she’s looking, she spots shadows, eyes, movements, throughout the supposedly empty village. One such person comes out of the woodwork, sprinting.

“Zedaph!” exclaims a tall, musclebound man. His face is twisted in naked worry as he meets Puffy at the barrel, which she sets Zedaph down on.

The large man, who wears a black shirt with a creeper face on it (does that mean something, Puffy wonders?) scrutinizes the blond man on the barrel for a moment before springing into action, splashing potions and bits of lapis and-- holy shit, is that a Totem of Undying?! When the blond man, Zedaph, seems to come back to himself enough that he could reasonably eat a golden carrot with minimal choking hazard, the new man hands him one. Finally, he turns to Puffy.

“Thank you,” he says. The relief in his voice is tangible.

Puffy shifts awkwardly. “I was just doing the right thing. I noticed, uh, his bracelet.”

They both look to Zedaph’s wrist. It’s got a woven bracelet on it. The textile isn’t astounding, but the pattern on it is intricate. Puffy would know, she made it herself as a gift for the Hermit. As Puffy and the other Hermit look at each other, she realizes that he is also wearing something she made: a pair of fingerless gloves which are now stained with redstone dust.

He catches her staring. “We all have one-- oh, uh, my name’s Impulse, and this is Zedaph--”

“Impulse,” a new blond man hisses from behind the two. Puffy jumps. She didn’t hear him coming.

“Tango!” Impulse greets, suddenly nervous. Why a man as big as Impulse would be nervous when facing anyone, let alone a normal-looking guy like Tango, is beyond Puffy. Maybe Tango’s red eyes have some sort of significance?

“Impulse,” Tango repeats, looking around for anyone that isn’t a Hermit. “You’re not invisible.”

Impulse’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. “I had to see Zedaph.”

“Yeahhh,” Zedaph slurs.

“Besides, if we can trust any of the natives, it’s Puffy,” Impulse insists. He crosses his arms in what should be an intimidating display, but truthfully looks more like a pout.

“You know what Xisuma said,” Tango says. “I’m grateful to have Zedaph back, but...”

“Xisuma would agree with me,” Impulse says stubbornly.

Tango sighs explosively, full of nerves. “Alright, fine, can we at least get out of sight? Anyone could come wandering across the surface and spot us.”

“How many of you are there?” Puffy breathes. Everyone’s eyes snap to her.

“Twenty-four,” Zedaph says happily.

“Zedaph!” Tango admonishes.

Rolling his eyes, Impulse scoops Zedaph up off the barrel like he weighs nothing. He carries the dazed blond man down the path and into a cottage-style house. As Tango goes to follow, he catches Puffy’s eye.

“Sorry,” he says, “nothing personal. Just trying to avoid being explodificated, which means not being seen by the people who live on this server. You get it, yeah?”

He jogs off to catch up with Impulse, and Puffy hurriedly follows. Tango’s got a bracelet like Zedaph’s, but it’s one of the ones Puffy made out of different shades of red. She wonders if all the Hermits wear something she made.

The inside of the house is a bit cramped, but it’ll do. It’s got a bed, at least, so Zedaph’s got somewhere to keep his leg off the ground. This all feels surreal.

“So, uh...” Puffy says into the stuffy silence of the room. “How about that, uh, bedrock?”

Nobody has anything to say to that. Fuck.

Out of nowhere, yet another Hermit shows up. There’s a trapdoor in the wall that, now that she looks at it, Puffy realizes that Tango was hiding intentionally. That’s all gone to shit, though, because a man with white hair and a mask over his face peeks his head out from the hole in the wall.

“Hey guys, what--” The man takes a look around, spots Puffy, and freezes. “...On second thought, I’ll come back later.”

“Wait!” Impulse says to the man. “Get Xisuma, or at least tell him Puffy’s here if he can’t make the trip right now.”

“Karl thinks you’re Mothman,” Puffy blurts out to the white-haired man.

The man looks very self-satisfied for someone who’s only showing a quarter of his face. “Oh? Where does he live? For absolutely no reason, of course.”

“Etho...” Tango groans.

“Oh, alright, I’ll go get X.”

The man leaves. Oh boy, thinks Puffy, this is going to be interesting.

[astralkoo]

Misbehaving Demons Get Edged

Kinktober day 03

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: strong language, technically tongue is wearing eyeliner and lip gloss but it’s only mentioned once oops, yoonie’s a lil devil, explicit sexual content; sub!yoongi, dom!reader, punishment, handjob, edging, overstimulation, cum eating

Requested by ; anonymous

“You should have behaved.” You sighed, tone laced with disappointment.

Yoongi could only offer a weak, rasping whimper in response from where he was sprawled on the mattress below you, still garnished in his half assed devil costume. A red headband with two little devil horns, a red windbreaker over a black t-shirt, and a plastic pitch fork, all of which were long ago discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor. It was a costume that turned out to be surprisingly fitting, considering...

“Oh fuck— oh fuck, I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He was shaking, trembling uncontrollably beneath the pressure of your relentless touch. It was so much. The red hot pleasure laced with the perfect amount of pain. Being pushed to the brink over and over and over again until it felt like the lightest caress would make him explode, only to have it torn out so mercilessly from beneath him. Sweat pooled across his tensed stomach, glistening above his furrowed brow.

The tension in his muscles was palpable beneath your palms, his thighs still quivering fiercely in the destructive aftermath of his last denied orgasm. Sighing in mock disappointment, you traced a single finger up a prominent vein, rousing a violent shudder to wrack his exhausted live wire of a body. The corners of your lips swirled into a taunting smirk as he whimpered out a breathless, “oh god.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, baby?” You frowned lightly, taking a sadistic enjoyment in the way he sobbed out weakly, hips stuttering upwards when you drew your hand away from him for the umpteenth time in the last hour. “After how you acted, how you embarrassed not only me but yourself as well in front of all of our friends… it’s going to take a lot more than a pathetic excuse of an apology to make up for it.”

“What do you want me d-do?” He groaned loudly, head falling back into the pillows, eyes squeezing tightly shut. You hummed thoughtfully, drawing invisible designs across the pale flesh of his toned thighs, long ago stripped bare of those sexy, tight fitting black jeans that hugged his cute little ass in all the right ways. The gentleness of the ministrations roused rows goosebumps across his exposed skin, a soft sigh falling from his mouth. “I’ll do anything.”

“You’re so desperate.” You scoffed.

“I am.” He admitted shamelessly, eyes fluttering, lips parting as your fingers inches closer and closer to where he needed it most. You laughed softly at his confession, not missing the lightest of curls at the corners of his mouth.

“God— look what you do to me.” He whined, lifting his head to look down at his throbbing, twitching cock, spilling pale, glistening precum over his pulsing head. “I need it so bad it fucking hurts, y/n. It hurts so fucking bad.”

You sunk your teeth into your lower lip, admiring the way his large, veiny hands curled into the thick, grey sheets beneath him, shaking with the effort of not grabbing hold of his dick and finishing himself off.

“Hmm… that not what you were telling your little friends earlier…” you muttered, swiping a finger through the pool of precum gathered on his belly. He whimpered apologetically at the reminder of his earlier behavior.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He pouted down at you, closing his legs around the shape of your body. “They were being assholes so then I started acting like an asshole, and I just—” he exhaled noisily through his nose, jutting his bottom lip out further as he reached for you, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m really sorry.”

Hope flashed across his pretty features as you suddenly leaned forward, face approaching his. Instinctively, his eyes fluttered shut, lips pressing out in hopes of meeting yours halfway.

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

A shattered moan rushed from his lips as you wrapped your hand around him once again, immediately setting a mind numbing pace. His arms gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the mattress with a shout of your name. You almost moaned at the sight of his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, brows knitting together tightly as he was overwhelmed with the sudden, overwhelming rush of pleasure through his veins, almost disorienting in its intensity.

He wasn’t going to last. He was not going to last. It was written clear as day across his face, embedded in the way that he was squirming and shaking and whimpering beneath you like a poor little bitch in heat. He was usually reluctant to make noises like that, and it, more often than not, took a lot of coaxing to get those pretty whines and whimpers out of him. But now, on the verge of losing his mind from the amount of edging he’d endured, all you needed to do was caress his flushed tip and he was moaning your name like the most sinful of prayers. And god, if you didn’t love the way it sounded on his rose petal lips.

His hands leapt up to grip tightly at your arms. “Y/n,” he barely managed to choke out your name between deep, rasping moans that wracked through the entirety of his being, “p- please, y/n, I—” his head was shaking, but the words were quickly lost beneath a high, gasping whimper. Nonetheless, you got the message loud and clear.

“It’s alright, my little devil,” you cooed, the mocking pitch in your words only thrusting him that much closer to his impending release, “you can come.”

The utter disbelief that flash across his face roused a low chuckle from the base of your chest. “Go ahead, gorgeous.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

“Fuck, that’s it.” You groaned softly, snagging your lip between your teeth and watching in amazement as his high crashed over him, abrupt and intense, consuming every waking part of him in molten fever. He fumbled to spit out broken fragments of your name, whining and moaning and losing himself in the euphoric sensation. His hot, sticky release spilled over your closed fist, dripping down your knuckles and slipping through your fingers. You couldn’t help the quiet moan that pulsed from your lips at the glorious sight of him; dark eyeliner smudged and gloss smeared at the corners of his mouth, swollen tears glistening at the rims of his eyes.

“God you are so fucking pretty,” you growled roughly, unable to restrain yourself any longer as you dropped your head, slotting your lips into his. The kiss was sloppy and fast, borderline savage in your shared desperation. He whimpered when you took his tongue between your lips and sucked, long fingers weaving through your hair, frantically tugging you closer.

But even as his high receded, he noticed your hand hadn’t let up. There was a twinge in his gut, something he recognized as the sting of over sensitivity. He gasped, eyes shooting open, fingers tightening in your hair. “Y/n— what are you— I already— oh!”

“Think you can cum again for me, baby?” You asked, a wicked smirk lighting up your features.

He immediately shook his head. But you could see the glow of excitement and curiosity beginning to burn in his eyes. “I c-can’t.” He stuttered, gaze flashing noncommittally between your dangerous mouth and where you gripped his already hardening cock.

“I think you can.” You hummed your disagreement, sliding your thumb over his come soaked tip. The sensation rippled through his body in thick, hot tendrils, forcing open his jaws and pulling at the last strings of his sanity.

“Oh— oh my fuck— I can’t, y/n, I’ll fucking die, I swear—” you laughed at his familiar dramatics, squeezing your fingers around him before setting a steady, rhythmic pace.

Even if it was slower than any of your previous ministrations, the effects it had on him were ten times more intense, no doubt escalated by the hot aftershocks of his first orgasm still running through his veins. And it wasn’t long at all until the burn of over sensitivity melted into searing ecstasy, bubbling mercilessly in his blood. His swollen lips gaped, teary eyes staring desperately into yours, pleading silently. But, it wasn’t for mercy. No— no. He wanted more. He wanted all of it. He wanted you to wreck him, ruin him, break him in every way imaginable.

Fuck. He needed it.

“Please, y/n— fuck, fuck, fuck please. Please, y/n. I wanna come for you. Let me come for you. Please, please.”

He rarely, if ever, begged you like that. So hearing those words— in that desperate, imploring whimper, so shameless and wanting, it hit you right where it hurt, and you found yourself giving in quite a bit sooner than you initially intended to.

“Come for me.”

The demand shot straight into his swollen, trembling dick. And then he was coming, somehow even harder than the first time. His head was thrown back into the pillows as he sobbed violently, muscles quivering and tensing, spasming beneath the wrath of his second high.

Your name never sounded as beautiful as it did in that moment, spilling from those rose petal lips.

Grinning, you finally relented, releasing his spent cock from your grasp. You raised your come soaked hand, bringing your fingers to his mouth. Without missing a beat, he happily accepted them, gently kitten licking his salty release off the pads of your digits. You moaned softly, combing your free hand through his thick black locks.

“That’s my pretty little devil.”

[hermannsthumb]

I've read fics where Hermann disapproves of PDAs but what about the reverse? As in he's so stunned at winning the most amazing man in the Shatterdome (6 phds, literal rockstar, gorgeous Newt) that he deliberately provokes contact and shows of affection. Just to show off to people and send a clear back off signal. And Newt just dotes on him obliviously.

ok this one is another super old prompt and when I was writing it this week it KINDA got away from me. but I hope everyone enjoyyyys. partially inspired from conversations with @k-sci-janitor 👀 totally sfw, except for one brief reference

anyway, a fic about hermann being all affectionate with newt and also discovering what relaxation is 

——————————————-------------------------------------------

The day after the world doesn’t end, Hermann brings Newt breakfast in bed.

Honestly, it surprises Newt more than the whole world not ending thing. Up until the previous evening, after all, Newt was pretty damn sure the guy absolutely hated him, and that if Hermann was gonna do something as out of character as bringing him breakfast, it surely meant he’d spat in it first. Or maybe poisoned it. If hated isn’t the right word, Newt would say Hermann at the very least barely tolerated. And then the whole sharing the neural load thing happened. And, after that, hugging, not once, but twice, and then falling asleep in bed together. And now Hermann’s perched on the edge of his bed (which they shared while they slept) and handing him a plate.

“You had quite the busy day yesterday,” Hermann says kindly. Hermann has never spoken to Newt kindly before. Atop the plate are two pieces of toast, a soft-boiled egg, and a mug of coffee. The coffee and toast (Newt notices) are exactly the shade he prefers. He wonders if Hermann picked up on it before or after the whole mind-melding thing. Before wouldn’t surprise him—Hermann has always been weird about noticing details like that. The egg, however, is something purely Hermann in taste. “I imagine you could use a nice spot of breakfast,” he adds.

Newt shoves his glasses on and blinks at Hermann groggily. He struggles to sit up, partially tangled in his sheets, and then takes the plate. A little bit of coffee sloshes down onto one of the slices of toast. “Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” he says.

Hermann smiles and looks down at the ragged old MIT sweatshirt he’s tossed on. He may have a few inches on Newt, but he’s still one skinny motherfucker, and it hangs almost comically off his frame. “I am,” he says. “I poked around in your closet, I hope you don’t mind. My clothing was in a rather sorry state.”

Sorry state is an understatement for both of them. Newt’s surprised they haven’t been formally ordered to burn the shit they wore to the bone slums yet. Blood, dirt, and kaiju guts aside, Newt’s, at least, reeks to high heaven with sweat. “No worries,” Newt says. He picks up the coffee and blows on it. He wonders where Hermann got coffee that smells this good. It’s been hard to find anything decent and non-instant on the base these days, and (thanks to limited rations) chain shops like Starbucks cost an arm and a leg for even a small. He also wonders what people thought when they saw Hermann strutting around the base with bedhead in a sweatshirt that obviously wasn’t his. Newt almost wants to blush on his behalf. Scandalous.

Before Newt can so much as take a sip of the coffee, Hermann is suddenly unbuckling and shucking off his grey slacks. “Dude!” Newt yelps, flushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Hermann blinks at him innocently. “What are you doing?”

It’s not so much that Newt is upset as it is that it’s so wildly out of character for Hermann that he feels he owes it to Hermann to act at least moderately scandalized. In all his years of knowing and working alongside Hermann, he’s never so much as seen Hermann’s bare wrist before. Now he’s in Newt’s goddamn bed flashing calves, and thighs, and neatly-pressed little white briefs… Hermann rolls his eyes and tosses the slacks (unfolded!) onto Newt’s desk chair. “Making myself comfortable,” he says. “Would you like me to stop?”

Does Hermann iron his underwear? It would be at odds with the rest of his clothing if he did, which is usually in various stages of frumpy to outright wrinkled, but Newt can’t think of how else it would look like that. He wonders if Hermann’s stitched his name on the inner waistband. It seems like the kind of thing Hermann would do. Newt suddenly realizes he’s been staring at Hermann’s briefs (and, worse still, considering how cute Hermann looks in just them and Newt’s sweatshirt) for an uncomfortably long time, so he quickly shakes his head and drags his eyes to Hermann’s face. One of Hermann’s eyebrows is quirked up. Newt hasn’t been subtle. “No,” he says. He clears his throat. “No, dude, you’re—all good.”

He chokes down a too-hot sip of coffee to have something to do with his mouth.

Hermann smirks.

The bedcovers are drawn back. Hermann slips under them and drapes an arm across Newt’s chest, his hand curling protectively over Newt’s hip. With his other hand he snags Newt’s coffee from his grasp and takes a sip. Newt watches his jaw and throat work as he swallows it, a funny feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. The mug is handed back over, Hermann’s fingers brushing against Newt’s, which make Newt feel even funnier. “Newton,” Hermann declares. “I think we ought to have sex.”

“Oh,” Newt says. “Can I finish my breakfast first?”

“Certainly,” Hermann says.

Newt’s heart pounds as he spreads a little packet of margarine across one of the pieces of toast; he can feel Hermann’s eyes on him, never straying once. Hermann’s hand draws little circles on his hip. Newt drops his toast twice to the plate before he can successfully take a bite, and even when he does, he doesn’t taste it. Hermann’s fingers dip under the hem of his t-shirt. Newt swallows his toast. “Why?” he says.

Apparently it’s the right question. Hermann nods, like he’s pleased Newt has asked. Like they’re talking theories or something. “I came to the conclusion while I fetching your coffee,” Hermann says. “It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have gotten up at seven in the morning to get coffee for just anyone. Then, of course, there is the whole drifting business—”

“You realized you wouldn’t have done that for just anyone too, huh?” Newt says with a smile. Hermann’s hand on his hip stills, and his cheeks go pink. Newt’s relieved to have gotten some ground back here. “Hermann, that’s sooo romantic.”

“The world was at stake,” Hermann sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Newt says. “I won’t tell anyone the great Dr. Gottlieb has feelings. So, what, you realized you have a big ole crush on me?”

Hermann takes the unfinished piece of toast from him and sets it down on his plate. He pulls Newt’s glasses off, kisses him soundly, and then puts Newt’s glasses back on. His mouth tastes like toothpaste. “On the contrary, I’ve always suspected it,” he says. “It’s just that now I have the time to confirm it.” He reaches up and strokes at Newt’s hair. “We have the time for lots of things, now, Newton. Whatever we’d like.”

Newt finishes off his coffee quickly, not even caring when he burns his tongue, and then tosses the remainder of his breakfast to the floor. His egg spills onto the massacred skinny corduroys he wore yesterday. Whatever, Newt’s burning them anyway. “God, get overhere already, man,” he says, tugging at Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt. He needs to help Hermann confirm his crush or whatever, pronto.

--

It’s a few days before Newt and Hermann finally drag themselves out of bed and to the lab to tackle what little work remains for them to do—cataloguing what are apparently the last kaiju samples known to man (Newt), recording and backing up their drift data (Newt’s solo drift, and then their joint data), drawing some random scribbles on the board and pretending they’re important calculations about the possibility of the Breach reopening (Hermann. Okay, whatever, maybe they are important). Unfortunately, the delay isn’t for any sexy reasons, as much as Newt would’ve liked it to have been. The events of the last day of the war caught up with them pretty quickly after that morning in Newt’s bed, and they mostly just slept, ordered out dinner, popped ibuprofen for their various aches, and avoided medical at all costs. (Rumor had it the medical staff on base were looking for him and Hermann so they could do some brain scans. Apparently drifting with a kaiju brain is potentially dangerous, who knew.)

A rancid smell washes over them the second they push the heavy lab doors open, and Newt spots several hunks of kaiju organs rotting away on his workbench. Hermann clamps a hand to his mouth. “Oops,” Newt says, turning to Hermann sheepishly. He can’t help but cower as he does. He and Hermann got along swimmingly the past couple days—it’ll be sad to see all that hard work go down the drain over this. “Guess I forgot to clean up the other day. In my defense—we were kind of busy.”

But Hermann doesn’t snap at Newt, or thump his cane on the ground, or call Newt an idiot, or even look annoyed; he lowers his hand from his mouth and laughs. Albeit a terse laugh, but still. Newt gapes at him. “We were rather busy,” Hermann concedes. “So long as you clean it up in the next ten minutes, I—what, Newton?”

“Nothing,” Newt says, quickly. “I’m gonna—um—deal with it now.”

Hermann disappears from the lab while Newt is digging around in the storage closet for extra heavy-duty trash bags. When he comes back an hour later, he’s holding a cardboard tray of small plastic cups, and Newt has just hefted his last spoiled sample into the lab’s airtight biohazard bin (a bit mournfully, if he’s being honest, since he’s sure there’s still more to learn about the kaiju from them). Newt squints at the cups in the tray while he rips his messy disposable work gloves off. “What’s that?” he says.

“Iced coffee,” Hermann declares.

The gloves slap, wetly, into the biohazard bin, and Newt lets out a low whistle. “Dude. No way. From where?” He’s not sure when he gave off the impression that the way to his heart was good coffee, but maybe it’s true. Then again, Hermann could probably win him over with a cup of lukewarm tap water. Not because Newt is desperate or anything. He just really likes Hermann.

“A little shop a bit away from the base,” Hermann says. “I took the bus.” He draws back his chair and sits down with a soft sigh, setting his cane against his desk. Then he draws out a small brown paper bag from his parka pocket. He tosses it to Newt; Newt catches it with one hand. “They had these funny little cakes on sticks. I thought you might like one.”

“Cake pops?” Newt says.

“I presume,” Hermann says. While Newt inhales the little chocolate-dipped cake pop (which is so good, oh my God, Newt hasn’t had dessert that didn’t come from a vending machine in plastic shrink wrap in years), Hermann adds, “I wasn’t sure what sort of iced coffee you liked, so I made sure to get a variety.”

“Sick,” Newt says, spewing crumbs on his shirt. “Um. But, like, why though?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann says. “I suppose I wanted to do something kind for you.” He carefully slides a straw out of its paper wrappings and pokes it into the lid of one of the coffees. Once he crumples up the wrapper and tosses It into his train bin, he grips his cane, and uses the handle to nudge Newt’s desk chair towards him. “You worked awfully hard cleaning the laboratory.”

Newt preens a little, even as he privately wonders why Hermann’s acting so weird. Well, nice. But nice is weird for Hermann, so they’re basically the same thing. Is this part of his whole deciding whether or not he digs Newt thing? Newt just assumed the awesome morning they spent together would be proof enough of that. Then again, Hermann’s pretty thorough. “I guess,” Newt says. “It was kind of my mess, though.”

Hermann pats at the empty chair with a smile. Hermann’s smiles are so rare—crooked, and stupid cute—that Newt’s heart gives a painful little twist at the sight of it, and he realizes he doesn’t actually give a shit about why Hermann’s being all weird, actually. “You’ve earned a break,” Hermann says. “Besides, I’d like to spend time with you.”

Newt’s too stunned to argue with that one. When he sits down, Hermann inches their chairs together until their knees are touching.

--

They don’t necessarily fall back into their usual habits by the next week, but the better ones they’ve picked up (being a little kinder to each other, a little more patient, a little more respectful, and also the fact that Hermann can’t seem to stop touching Newt) all but fall into the background as Newt throws himself into his work with renewed determination. Unfortunately, his desire to get it all done as soon as fucking possible speaks less to his awesome work ethic, and more to the fact that he’s just not sure what else to do with himself now, and he likes that work gives him the excuse to not think about it. Hermann said they have all the time to do whatever they like now. Well, Newt likes working. He knows working. Relaxation is a foreign concept to him, and it was a foreign concept to Hermann up until recently. While Newt is toiling away over his decaying kaiju samples in the lab, Hermann is out—

“Where?” Newt says.

Hermann gives Newt the most serene smile Newt’s ever seen cross his face. “I took a bath,” he says. “It was very nice. I bought some nice soaps, and lit some candles, and looked online to see how to do one of those mud masks. It was very relaxing. You ought to try it.”

“Try bathing?” Newt says.

“Yes. Well, no. I mean taking a bath. Is there something you’re not understanding?”

Newt tries to imagine Hermann with a mud mask on his face and cucumbers over his eyes and fails miserably. Hermann hates messes. He would never stand for mud, let alone on his skin. Where’d he even find a bathtub? Did he break into the rangers’ locker room again? Aren't candles banned on base for being a fire hazard, anyway? “Yeah,” Newt says. “Pretty much all of it.”

Hermann shakes his head with a snort, and Newt catches a whiff of something floral and fragrant—his fancy new soap or oil, he guesses. “I’m not surprised. You know, Newton, you are awfully tense.”

Hearing that from Hermann of all people, the king of having-a-massive-stick-up-your-ass, is probably the funniest thing that’s ever happened to Newt. He laughs out loud and plunges a bare hand into his kaiju sample with a gross squelching noise. “Sure, dude.”

He’s almost too engrossed in his sample to feel Hermann sidling up behind him and setting a hand at his waist. He definitely feels Hermann nose a kiss behind his ear, though, and the hot flush that spreads down across his neck from it. Newt’s hand goes sweaty around his scalpel. One thing he definitely wasn’t expecting from a post-no-apocalypse Hermann is how free he is with affection in any and all forms. “Give it a rest, love,” Hermann murmurs. He nudges at the heel of Newt’s boot with the end of his cane. Love? “Why don’t we head back to my quarters and watch a film? You can pick.”

“But.” Newt fidgets. “I have—my sample—”

Another little kiss. The soapy-oil smell is stronger now. Newt thinks it might be lavender. He wonders if the mud mask left Hermann’s skin all soft. “It won’t be going anywhere, Newton.”

Newt sets down his scalpel.

When they they pass by a group of LOCCENT staff in the hallway, Newt makes to drop Hermann’s hand (which Hermann had laced together with his own before they left the lab), but Hermann holds fast, maybe even faster than before, and looks at him with his stupidly sweet set of big eyes. Newt waits until they round the corner to say anything. “Sorry,” he says, lamely. “Um. I thought—you wouldn’t want—” Hermann continues to stare at him. His iris is still ringed red like Newt’s. “I just mean I know you’re weird about stuff like that. Public stuff.” Hermann has been a closed and tightly-bound book for as long as Newt’s known him; he can’t imagine that would suddenly change and he would start broadcasting his emotions far and wide in the course of a week just because he’s a little less stressed.

Or, you know. Maybe Newt’s totally wrong on this. “Ah,” Hermann says. He nods, very seriously. “Yes. I have been considering that as well. I see no reason to hide recent developments in our relationship.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. "In fact, I see no reason to not be quite, er, proud of them. You’re quite the catch.”

Newt remembers the stolen sweatshirt. Maybe Hermann wearing it out to get them breakfast was more calculated than he realized. “So if I made out with you against the wall right now you wouldn’t be mad?” Newt says.

“Well,” Hermann says, inclining his head to his door, "seeing as my quarters are right there, it seems a rather unnecessary inconvenience.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Newt smiles as Hermann leads him in. “Can I really pick the movie?”

“Within reason.”

[lyssismagical]

Okay so I don't have a prompt from, like, a list? But: either Peter or Harley taking their younger sister trick-or-treating and ending up getting scared by somebody? Idk it's not a great prompt but

I kinda took this prompt on a little adventure but here we are (late as always lmao)

This is also incredibly AU so oops ,,,

*

Harley’s incredibly reluctant when his mom shows him the costumes she picked out for them. He would do pretty much anything for his siblings, but this was a little over the top.

Apparently, Abbie had begged to do a group costume this year, and they’d decided on Winnie the Pooh.

Jonah, the second youngest of the Keener’s at three, got to be Winnie the Pooh, and Harley would be lying if he said he wasn’t the cutest little kid on the planet.

Dayton’s seven and he chose Tigger.

Piglet went to Aspen, the middle child at 10 years old.

Abbie claimed Eeyore before Harley could.

Leaving Harley as Kanga, and the baby of the family, Bentley, as Roo.

It’s embarrassing, walking around his hometown dressed as Kangaroo with his baby sister in his pouch, the train of Keener’s following along behind him.

The anxiety is a lot higher than the shame, though. With five children to look after singlehandedly, Harley feels like he’s going to lose his mind, counting them every few minutes to make sure they haven’t lose anybody.

Rose Hill’s generally a pretty safe town. It’s small enough that everyone knows everyone. If any of these people saw one of the Keeners in danger, they’d be sure to stop it. Harley trusts the people in the town.

But Rose Hill’s also a popular trick or treating spot. Everyone in neighboring towns come to theirs because nearly every house will have candy or chocolate available. They always go all out. So there’s a lot of strangers about.

“C’mon! It’s Tay’s house!” Aspen shouts, racing ahead, hand linked with Dayton’s. “She said she’d have special treats for us!”

“Aspen!” Harley chastises with no results. Abbie shakes her head, holding onto Jonah’s hand. The pair system generally works alright but leaving the two middle kids together doesn’t work out quite as well as Harley was hoping for. He tries to pick up the pace to catch up, but Bentley is proving to be a difficult addition to their team.

He loses sight of Aspen suddenly, lost to the groups of people on the streets. He grabs Jonah from Abbie. “Go catch up to the others and then wait at Tay’s until I get to you.”

Abbie jogs off, bag of candy tossed over her shoulder. Jonah whines pitifully at being left behind and Harley’s forced to lift him into his arms to soothe him.

Now saddled with two kids and three bags of candy, Harley struggles to keep his cool.

“Help!”

Harley turns, fear chilling him to his very bones. It could be one of his kids, voice high and scared.

But when he sees the source of the voice, it’s a girl he doesn’t recognize, probably eight or nine years old, eyes wide and a deep shade of brown.

“Everythin’ okay?” Harley asks, shifting Jonah’s weight to lean down to her height.

She shakes her head, mouth settling into a pout. “I can’t find my brother.”

“Alright, honey, I’ll help you out. Can I guess he’s dressed as Peter Pan?”

The girl nods. She’s dressed as Tinkerbell, a little green dress and wings and the iconic green shoes with white balls on the ends. “I got scared but I can’t find him anymore.”

“Okay, well, I’m Harley and this is Jonah and Bentley. What’s your name?”

“Morgan. And my brother is Peter.”

Bentley babbles wordlessly from Harley’s kangaroo pouch and Jonah’s fist curls into Harley’s hair.

“Where did you see him last?” Harley asks. He can’t help looking over his shoulder, still worried about Abbie, Aspen, and Dayton. “Do you remember?”

She nods. “I’m not allowed to tell you. It’s a secret.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”

She leans in closer, eyes so wide and earnest, voice dropping into a stage-whisper. “He’s Spider-Man. He saw someone who needed help and he told me to stay put but I got scared.”

“Spider-Man? I thought he was Peter Pan?”

“No, he’s Spider-Man, for real. My daddy is Iron Man.” Morgan rolls her eyes like Harley’s silly for thinking otherwise.

Instead of continuing to argue, Harley just accepts this and moves on. “Alright, well now that you’ve told me that, we can retrace your steps and find your brother, yeah?”

She nods, lighting up in a smile.

“First,” Harley says, unable to stop the constant waves of fear, “Let’s go grab my other siblings, yeah? And then you can lead the way.”

She grabs onto Harley’s tail, keeping herself attached as he leads the way, not having a hand available for her.

They get to Tay’s driveway, waving the three kids over.

“What’s up?” Abbie asks, frowning at Morgan. “I know there’s a lot of Keener kids to remember, but I think I would recognize this one.”

“She can’t find her brother, so we’re going to help out.”

Dayton frowns, shaking his bag of candy. “But there’s still a lot of houses to hit.”

“We can go later. First, we’re helping Morgan.”

He shifts Jonah again, weighed down by everything. Bentley babbles some more. Morgan looks like she might cry if Harley doesn’t find her brother soon. Dayton and Aspen look a few seconds away from throwing twin tantrums.

“Alright,” Harley says, taking a deep breath. “Abbie, keep Dayton and Aspen together and following. No running off this time. Morgan, you’re leading the way. You can all have one piece of candy before we go.”

He gets a lollipop for both kids and one for Morgan too, at least it’ll keep them occupied for a little bit. And then he makes sure everyone’s good before they start off again, following Morgan’s lead.

At the very least, she seems to know where she’s going, but she seems nervous, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure Harley’s still there.

Harley feels like he might cry, shoulders aching and back throbbing in pain as Jonah falls asleep against his shoulder and Bentley squirms against his stomach. And at one point, Dayton starts complaining about his feet hurting, so Harley passes off his bag of candy to Abbie, and lifts Dayton up onto his shoulders, making sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt Jonah.

“I was standing right here,” Morgan finally says, eyes sparkling. “Peter went down that road and left me here.”

Harley nods, looking around. “Did he say he’d come back to meet you here?”

She nods.

“Alright, I guess, let’s wait and see if he shows up. He’ll know you’re waiting here for him. In the meantime, Abbie…”

Abbie nods, already understanding what he’s asking of her. She puts the candy bags down. “I’ve got my phone on me and I’ll just check down this road. I’ll be twenty minutes max.”

“Be safe please. Mom would kill me if I lost you.”

She takes off and Aspen sits down against the brick wall with Morgan. Harley doesn’t want to wake up Jonah and he can’t get Dayton down without Abbie’s help so he just leans against the brick wall and hopes it won’t take long or else his shoulders will fall off.

And then, as though the universe is out to get him, Bentley starts crying.

He can’t hold Bentley, his only ability is to try to soothe her with words.

Morgan’s eyes go wide, like she might cry too. And Harley doesn’t think she could deal with that right now.

“Spider-Man’s not going to save you now.”

Harley turns quickly, pushing himself in front of Morgan. This is probably what scared her earlier. “Listen, man, we don’t want any trouble.”

He steps out of the shadows and Bentley cries harder. The man’s holding a gun, pointing it right at Harley.

“Spider-Man hurt my business. He ruined my life. I just want the girl.”

Harley quickly slides Jonah onto the ground, leaving him with Aspen, and with his hands free, he can pull Dayton onto the ground as well.

Abbie rounds the corner and she freezes, staring at them. “What- Harley?”

“Abbie, take Bentley,” Harley orders, keeping his hands lifted and eyes on the man. “We don’t want any trouble, okay?”

As soon as Bentley’s safe, Harley takes another step forward, putting as much space between the kids and the man as possible.

Behind him, not only is Bentley crying, but it sounds like Jonah, Morgan, and Aspen are as well.

“If you don’t move, I’ll kill you too.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you get at any of them. I can’t. Just put down the gun and we won’t have any problems, alright?”

The gunman flicks off the trigger and Abbie shouts wordlessly, sitting against the brick wall, holding all the kids with her.

Harley keeps his hands raised in surrender. “Please, don’t do this. They’re just kids.”

“Move or I shoot.”

Harley’s hands are shaking, fear running his blood cold. But he doesn’t move.

And then, swinging down from a nearby rooftop, is Peter Pan.

Peter Pan knocks the man to the side, hat barely staying on his head, and webs the gun to the bricks, too high for anyone to grab. The man doesn’t have much fight left to give, and Peter Pan webs him to the ground pretty quickly.

As soon as he does, he spins around, eyes darting until he sees Morgan.

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathes, racing over and lifting Morgan into a tight hug. “You’re okay. You were gone and I was thinking the worst. Christ, I was so scared. Don’t do that to me.”

Harley turns, falling to his knees and immediately checking to make sure everything’s alright.

“Is everyone okay? Nobody’s hurt?”

Abbie shakes her head. “We’re okay. Don’t fucking do that, though. You’re so stupid.”

Harley takes Bentley back, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her forehead in an attempt to soothe her. He gets out some more candy for Dayton and Aspen, hoping it’ll be enough to keep them calm.

“Hey, Morgan said you saved her.”

Harley looks up at Peter Pan. “I’ve got five younger siblings. I know what it’s like.”

“This is different. You could’ve let him take her to save yourself and your siblings, but you didn’t. You protected her.”

“It’s not a big deal. You saved me from getting shot, so we’re even.” Harley shrugs, offering a little smile. “Do you live around here?”

Morgan shakes her head. “We drove super long to get here.”

“Not super long, just a bit. We live nearby. Her parents needed to get out of the spotlight and this is what they came up with.”

“Come on then, I live just a few blocks from here-”

Aspen frowns, voice going high and whiny. “We’re not going to keep trick or treating?”

“You really want to-”

“Please!” All of them shout, even Morgan.

Harley sighs harshly, but Peter shrugs. “Yeah, alright, we could do a couple more houses, huh, Harley?”

Peter takes Dayton and Morgan, Abbie takes Aspen, and Harley’s left with Jonah and Bentley. Harley introduces Peter to all of them.

It’s so much easier to have another ‘adult’ with him to watch the kids, even if there’s an extra kid to account for. They trick or treat at another three blocks worth of houses before calling it a day and heading back to the Keener Household.

Harley puts Jonah, Bentley, and Dayton to bed. It’s late enough as is, before he sets Abbie, Morgan, and Aspen up to watch a movie.

And then, he takes Peter into the kitchen.

“You hungry? Thirsty? Anything I can do for you?”

Peter laughs, shaking his head. “Take off the Host Hat.”

Harley turns from the fridge and nods before getting distracted. It’s not his fault, really, it’s just that Peter’s wearing tights and a very definingly tight green shirt with a belt cinched around his small waist. He’s got little freckles drawn onto his cheeks and black eyeliner that makes his doe eyes look so pretty.

He probably looks so silly dressed as a kangaroo in comparison.

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you did today, Harley. If it weren’t for you…”

“It’s really not a big deal. We’re even.”

Peter smiles softly. “You’re a really good guy, Harley.”

“You’re a superhero, Peter. There’s no way I could beat that.”

“It’s not a competition.”

Harley takes a step closer. “You make a really good Peter Pan. It fits.”

“What fits? The role or the tights?”

“Both,” Harley smiles, close enough now to cup Peter’s cheek and lift his head up to meet his eyes. “The hat’s cute too.”

Peter grins. “The kangaroo look is adorable, it works for you, believe it or not.”

And then Harley’s kissing him, tugging his body flush to his, and hands tangling into his curls and knocking his hat askew.

It only lasts a few minutes before Abbie’s wolf-whistling from the doorway.

“God, Abbie, buzzkill, much?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Mom just left for her shift at the hospital. Morgan’s determined on having a sleepover with Aspen so I sent them both up to her room, and I’m heading up to get some homework done. Keep it down, alright?”

“Abbie!”

Peter laughs, hiding his face against Harley’s chest.

“Guess you’re staying the night, huh?” Harley asks as soon as Abbie’s gone. Peter laughs some more before kissing Harley again.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spidey-reids-2003  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @zanderljones {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed} 

[outlawandlychgate]

Chapter 2-King of the Dead; Scene 3

Outlaw & Lychgate, pages 26-39

A black tuxedo, and contrasting white skin.

Arth spoke first to the man waiting in the roof garden.

“Long time no see, wicked spirit.”

“My…You figured me out quick. Even though this is the first time you’ve met me with this appearance…”

“I could sense it. Now that I no longer have a body of flesh and blood, I’ve become able to discern between people using more than just appearances alone.”

“Thank goodness for that. I’d been thinking about changing into my black Rollam bird form if you didn’t recognize me.”

Arth didn’t care either way.

Human or bird, no matter what form he took it didn’t change this man’s true nature.

“Would you prefer I take my leave?” Bruno asked Arth.

“Yes, please do. I want to speak with him alone—And thank you, Bruno. This was a pretty frivolous errand I asked of you.”

“I don’t mind. …I got to hear an interesting story.”

“Oh, would that be—” He could generally guess the contents. “—About my having been a ‘mud doll’?”

“Yes.”

“I see…”

“Well, in the end it’s more a fairytale to me, I suppose. Never mind who you two are.”

“I suppose so…What do you plan to do now?”

“I think I might wander the world a little with my friends. There are a few acquaintances of mine that didn’t come here, after all. After that…I’ll probably go through the gate.”

“Really? You—intend to go to the ‘new world’.”

“There’s no point in continuing to wander this world forever, I would think.”

“…True.” Arth clapped Bruno on the shoulder. “Well then, take care of yourself.”

“You too, King Arth—Though the two of us have already died, ha ha.”

Bruno moved to go down the stairs, lightly chuckling.

“…Ah, wait just a second.”

Arth abruptly called Bruno back.

“What is it?”

“Could you send Keel Freezis up here? He should be in the Hall of Mirrors.”

“That merchant with the spectacles, right? Very well.”

Bruno nodded, and then left.

“…Now then.” Arth turned back to Lich. “Back…to you, Lich. Frankly I never thought the day would come that I’d see you again.”

“Last we met was around the time your wife gave birth to twins, as I recall.”

“You’d seemed quite shaken back then, unusually so.”

“You could say that. A doll that I had thought would simply wither away had just had a child with a human being, you know. I was shocked, and…delighted.”

“But you disappeared after that—you never showed up again. At the time I hadn’t understood why, but…”

Arth looked down over the garden in front of the palace from the roof.

Just as inside it was brimming with people’s souls.

“…I had a chat with Lady Banica Conchita a little while ago.”

When Arth uttered that name, Lich’s countenance seemed to shift slightly.

“About…what?”

“Well, various things. She’s a woman I had originally only known as a figure from books…My impression of her has changed a bit.”

There was a brief silence.

Grasping that Arth didn’t seem like he would speak about Banica any further, Lich cut in to change the topic, “--What’s the current situation?”

“A lot of people are in disarray. We’ll need to calm them down before we take them to the gate. However…there’s several complications.”

“Oh. Such as?”

“First, the Tasan soldiers. Even now that they’ve lost their black box and the person giving them orders, there are still some of them who are trying to keep fighting. There’s no way to settle a battle between souls. So…we’ll have to get them to lower their weapons somehow.”

“These people lived in a different time period from you. It won’t be easy to talk them down.”

“I’m leaving that part to Gallerian Marlon and his daughter. Apparently he has some ideas.”

“—I see. What else?”

Arth passed his gaze to the south, and then once more met eyes with Lich.

“One other peculiar occurrence has happened. And it’s…the reason why I called you here.”

“How intriguing. Both whatever this occurrence must be, and also the fact that you’re seeking to borrow my abilities in itself.”

“There’s no one else qualified for it. No one can face off against—those ‘dead soldiers’.”

Yes, the “dead soldiers”.

There was no longer anything living in this world.

Not just humans. All of the animals and plants, too.

And despite that—there were still beings who wandered the world with physical bodies.

“Southeast from here…where the fortress called Retasan used to be. A--gathering of dead soldiers was sighted there.”

“…”

Lich said not a word, but it was clear from his expression that he was growing interested in this story.

Arth continued speaking.

“I checked with Lady Banica, but apparently neither she nor her servants have any knowledge of them…I’ll ask you here now just to be sure—”

“Naturally, they have nothing to do with me either.”

“—Right. Then that leads us to the question of who it was that brought these dead soldiers about.”

“A similar event was witnessed during the end times…right before the world was destroyed. Dead soldiers with nothing to do with us, independent of ‘Gluttony’’s power, appeared—and they refused to follow our orders.”

“Lady Banica told me about that.”

“We named those dead soldiers ‘Outlaws’…Eater and I were the ones who dealt with them.”

“But you weren’t able to settle the matter.”

“These dead soldiers are such that they will endlessly surge forth as long as there’s dead bodies around. Nothing is quite so dangerous as when you make an enemy of them. …But I think it ultimately got left up in the air at the end, thanks to the world being destroyed.”

Still, the fact was that these Outlaws were continuing to appear even after the world’s end.

“…However.” Lich made a show of thinking for a moment, and then asked, “It’s not a big deal, surely? I can’t imagine these Outlaws can interfere with souls that have no physical body.”

“The reverse is also true. We…are unable to interfere with these Outlaws ourselves.”

“Considering neither of you are able to so much as touch the other, you ought to just leave it be.”

“I thought that too. But—” Arth’s brows drew in. “From what I heard from Lady Banica—there are souls dwelling in the dead soldiers as well, aren’t there?”

“…Yes, that’s right. The owners of the bodies in life should still be in there—”

“Then I want to do something to free those souls. There may be those among them that wish to go to the ‘new world’ but are unable to because they are bound by their dead soldier bodies.”

Lich brought both hands up before his chest and then clapped at Arth.

“How stupendous. What a magnificent idea. But…that has nothing to do with me.”

“You’d think so. Lady Banica said much the same, and refused to deal with this matter.”

“So then—”

“But your situation is a little different, isn’t it?”

“My…How do you figure that?”

Arth’s tone grew firmer as he said, “You once investigated into the dead soldiers as a method for creating a new breed of humanity. That was why you became Lady Banica’s servant. For you—I would think these Outlaws are an interesting subject, are they not? There’s even a chance that if you study them you could create a new humanity in this world—”

“—I seem to recall someone else telling me something similar just recently…But I no longer have any more interest in such things, Arth.”

“--! But, still—”

“Alright alright, calm down.”

Lich patted Arth’s arms in a placating fashion.

And then after a moment he replied, “—Well, alright. I do have some business that I’ve left unfinished."

“I see, so you’ll do it!”

Arth grinned.

“I will…And I’ll bring Eater with me. He has the dead soldier body I made for him. If he destroys these Outlaw bodies then that might release their souls that way.”

“Eater…You mean that giant skeleton?”

“Yes. He played a big role in the battle earlier, didn’t he? Where is he now?”

Arth looked a bit troubled at seeing Lich’s proud expression.

“…He’s not here right now.”

“…Huh?”

“He went off somewhere with Lady Banica and her twin servants. They said they had some business elsewhere.”

“W…wait just a second. You mean—”

“Hm, it sounds like…they left you behind.”

“…”

“In Lady Banica’s defense…She did look for you? But she couldn’t find you, so—”

“…I see. That was my oversight, wasting time in the forest ruins like I was.”

Seeing Lich’s very obviously depressed air, Arth suddenly started to laugh without thinking. “Haha. To think, even you can make a face like that. …Though I guess I couldn’t see your expressions when you were a bird.”

“Where did they say they were going?”

“I don’t know, but…Keel Freezis might have asked them about it.”

“The Elphegortean merchant.”

Arth looked a little surprised at Lich’s quick response.

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve never met face to face. But Micha—a fellow spirit once spent some time in his care.”

It was a peculiar connection they had.

But it wasn’t a big issue by this point.

“I asked Bruno to call him up here, so he should be coming soon—Oop, speak of the devil.”

A man of delicate features wearing spectacles had come up the stairs to the roof garden.

“You called me, King Arth?”

“You seemed like you were talking about something with Lady Banica earlier.”

“I was. But she’s already headed off.”

“Did you ask her where she was going? I’d like you to tell this man here, if you know.”

“I wouldn’t…mind, but…” Keel gave Lich a fixed stare, and then said, “I have a condition.”

“Oh my. Bartering with a king, are you?”

“Sometimes information is more valuable than gold. I would be a disgrace as a merchant if I just handed it away for free. –Even if it’s to the king of a country.”

He would most certainly have taken the same attitude with Arth even if they had met when they were both alive.

He thought to himself that he seemed quite the shrewd man—though Arth certainly didn’t mind such people.

He much preferred it to toady sorts who never let their intentions show on the surface.

“Very well. What do you want?”

“You plan to send this man to Retasan, correct? To resolve the matter with the dead soldiers you spoke of.”

“…Good guess. That’s right.”

“In that case, I’d like you to let me accompany him.”

Arth looked surprised, and—

Lich made a bluntly displeased expression.

“Are you interested in the dead soldiers?” Arth asked.

“I am. And—in this man too.” Keel pointed to Lich with a thin smile. “I shall endeavor to not get in the way. We can’t come into physical contact with the dead soldiers anyhow, yes?”

“That…is true.”

Arth looked to Lich with a slightly troubled expression.

“What do you think, Lich?”

“…I don’t really mind,” Lich replied as he glowered at Keel.

And then he asked him:

“So where did Lady Banica and the others go?”

Keel let out a huff, and then quietly responded, “—They said they were going to the ‘graveyard’.”

“…The graveyard, huh. That’s it for me, then.” Lich sighed. “I don’t know how to get there.”

“They said they would return here when their business was taken care of. Should we wait until then?”

“No…Let’s go see how things are at Retasan first. If it looks too difficult to manage on our own, we’ll bring Eater along then.”

“Wise decision. We’ve no guarantee they’ll come back right away. …Actually, it’s up in the air whether or not they come back safely at all—”

Keel laughed boldly.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oh no, nothing—Well then, let’s make haste. I have a carriage and a coachman waiting outside.”

“…You’re well prepared.”

“Retasan is a long ways away. Souls might not get tired from walking but I’d rather the trip were pleasant, wouldn’t you agree?”

“If it were just me I could simply fly there…Well, alright. Wait for me outside.”

“Alright. Be seeing you.”

Keel went down the stairs, his smile never wavering.

Arth gazed at him doubtfully as he left.

“That merchant…What is he planning?”

But for his part Lich had already regained his snide smile. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. It’s nothing to worry about overmuch.”

“I suppose I’ll leave it be if you say so, but—”

“King Arth. Just one thing before we head out.” Lich stuck up his index finger, and asked, “Once this is all resolved, and you’ve set people off towards the gate…What do you plan to do then?”

“Hmph…” Arth crossed his arms and quietly closed his eyes.

“I still haven’t entirely decided on that—I’m considering remaining here.”

“My…Why is that?”

“I imagine that not everyone wishes to go to the new world. In that case…There will most certainly need to be someone to bring together all the people who stay behind.”

“So you intend to become king of the dead, hm…But that’s bound to lead to some barren and empty days, isn’t it?”

“I still haven’t given up on this world being reborn. If we can revive nature, and get ahold of new physical bodies—It is for that reason I would be grateful if you stayed and offered us your assistance.”

“…I don’t know, I’ll think about it.”

He couldn’t hold Lich back with force—that was something that Arth knew.

He was free to decide whatever he wanted.

Even if he was a wicked spirit—no, because of that.

He could not bind this man.

.

After wordlessly seeing off Lich from the rooftop, Arth looked up at the sky.

There he saw the sun and—regardless of the fact that it was midday—the moon, shining.

“The new world…and everyone in it…I’ll trust you with that Allen, Riliane,” he whispered quietly.  

<<prev------directory------next>>

[falcon-eye]

Part 3? of the story for my OCs for @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU! I intended to only write like the opening paragraph for this today but now it’s two hours later and the whole thing is typed out. Oops.

At some point this will all be on AO3, I promise! But until then, should I do a tag list? Would people want me to tag them as I write these in the meantime? Please let me know!

(Also points to whoever can guess what Veko’s talking about when it comes to colors and smells and things! I also have it, though not exactly like Veko does)

(Also bonus points to wherever can figure out what real life goat Ren is based on lol)

———————————————

Unfortunately, Veko wasn’t able to return to Eloise for a few more years. Between simply not being in the area, not having time between hunts, his brother Hamra almost being disemboweled one year, and his own injuries, he just hadn’t been able to make his way to her little town in Temeria.

This year, he was determined to go back, though he wasn’t sure why. He chalked it up to being able to stay somewhere comfortable, with actual good food, for free, but even he knew that was a flimsy excuse. Eloise fascinated him, for lack of a better word. She hadn’t been afraid of him—quite the opposite! From the get-go it was like she had tried to intimidate him, and godsdammit it worked. But she was so nice to him, and despite what she said, her food was quite good. Or maybe everything Veko had been eating recently was just that awful.

Veko swung down off of Nine—his new gray mare after Eight became wyvern food (rest in peace you prick)—and hitched her to the fence post outside Eloise’s house. For some reason, he was nervous to see her again. Was it because it had been so long (for a human anyway) since he’d been here? He didn’t want her to think he wanted out of their deal or anything.

Veko brushed as much dirt and grime off of his armor as he could before knocking on the door. A moment later, it swung open and Eloise stared up at him with wide eyes.

Veko scratched his burns. “Uh, hello Elo—“

Eloise threw herself at him, arms around his neck. “Oh my gods!” she cried. “You fucking prick! Where have you been?!” Veko faltered for a moment before tentatively wrapping his arms around Eloise’s, but she immediately pulled back, giving him an icy glare. “Well?!”

“I, uh, I’ve been... busy,” Veko replied, but for some reason, Veko felt awful despite it being the truth.

“Busy!” Eloise exclaimed. Holy shit, she’d really been upset about this.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said, staring down at his boots. “I really am. And—and I really was busy. I don’t want you to think I was trying to get out of the deal or anything, cuz I wasn’t—“

“You think I’m upset because of the fucking deal?!” Eloise shouted. Veko blinked at her and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “For Melitele’s—get in here!”

Eloise pulled Veko into the house and slammed the door. Despite the few years that had gone by, not much inside had changed. There were more paint supplies strewn around the house than last time, but that was about it.

Veko scratched his scars again and Eloise slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” he said automatically.

“I thought you were dead!” Eloise shouted, poking a finger into Veko’s chest. “You’re a bloody Witcher! That’s what happens, isn’t it? You fight monsters, and then you die. Well godsdamn you I thought you died!”

Veko was horrified when the salty smell of tears began tickling his nose; something must have showed on his face, because Eloise rubbed her eyes quickly, not letting any of them fall.

“I’m sorry,” Veko said again.

Eloise glared at him again before suddenly hugging him. “Fucking git,” she hissed. “Send a letter or something, at least! I don’t know how to get ahold of you but I’m always here!”

Veko hesitated again but hugged Eloise back. This time, she didn’t pull away. “Sorry,” he said into her hair. “Just, every time I was in the area, something would come up, or my brother was hurt, or I was too injured to travel—“

“Are you ok now?!”

“Oh yeah, all healed up now.”

“And your brother?”

Veko smiled sadly, remembering the blood on his hands and the horrifying look of resignation on Hamra’s face. “Touch and go for a bit, but yeah, he also made a full recovery. I just couldn’t leave him like that.”

Eloise finally pulled away and crossed her arms. “Well damn,” she grumbled. “How can I be mad at you now?”

Veko chuckled, feeling like a weight had lifted off of his chest.

—————

During lunch, Eloise filled him in on how things had been going since they’d seen each other. Lennart was still a bastard, but after being slapped in front of the gods and everyone by a lady at the tavern, he’d been officially removed from his position. A local woman had taken the title of alderwoman now, and things had been a lot better. A few of Eloise’s goats had had multiple babies, though a wolf problem last year had taken a few of them. She still had one of her original nanny goats, though, and apparently this particular goat was about as stubborn as they come.

“She actually chased one of the wolves off, even!” Eloise explained. “Charged it head on. I’ve never seen a wolf roll like that in my life.”

“Remind me not to piss your goats off, then,” Veko chuckled.

Eloise seemed to pause for a moment. “I actually have to go feed them,” she said. “Plus, your horse has just been... well, outside tied to my fence. Come with me?”

So that was how Veko found himself leading his horse to the tiny barn behind Eloise’s house. He could see a couple goats that were obviously youngsters immediately rush over to the fence, bleating loudly. From within the barn, a huge tan goat trotted out and fucking screamed.

Veko flinched and even Nine pulled back. “Sorry, sorry,” Eloise said. “That’s Georgina. She’s... special.”

“I’ll say,” Veko grumbled. “This our wolf chaser?”

Eloise shook her head and pointed to another goat on the opposite side of the paddock. A little black thing, shorter than the others, with huge, curled horns. Eloise whistled and the goat immediately charged—and slammed horns first—into the fence.

“Ren,” Eloise said, crouching down to scratch the goat between the ears. “She’s harmless. Mostly.”

Veko looked at Nine and seemed to almost share a stare with the horse. A ‘can you believe this shit?’ moment that got Veko chuckling despite himself.

“Whatever you say.”

Eloise led Veko and Nine into the barn and into a small empty stall. “This was my father’s horse’s stall,” she explained as Veko began undoing Nine’s tack.

“Where is your old man, anyway?” he asked as he heaved the saddle down.

Eloise looked away. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He passed, um, a few months after you left.”

Veko dropped the saddle. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m—I’m so sorry. Fuck, if I’d known—“

“Veko,” Eloise put a hand on his arm, “my father was sick. Even I didn’t realize how badly until a week before he went. But it was... it was peaceful, at least. I’d made him dinner, he wished me goodnight, and I found him in the morning.”

Veko honestly didn’t know what else to say. Death was a weird subject for Witchers, after all. He continued grooming Nine while searching desperately for something to say that wasn’t ‘sorry’ again.

“Did he have... a funeral?” Veko asked. He could’ve slapped himself. Of course he had a fucking funeral.

Eloise seemed to sense Veko’s fumbling, because she smiled gently and nodded. “A very nice one, too,” she said. “I’ll go get some water for your horse.”

As Eloise walked away, Nine looked at Veko again. What was it with this horse? Veko pointed a warning finger in his face; Nine simply huffed and turned away. Somewhere, Hamra was laughing, Veko was sure of it. His brother had always had a good relationship with his horses.

Eloise returned a moment later with a bucket of water. Veko immediately took it from her and poured it into the empty trough.

“What’s her name?” Eloise asked. If he could blush, Veko would’ve been scarlet.

“Nine,” he said.

“‘Nine’?” Eloise repeated. “Does that mean something in another language or like, the number?”

“The, uh, the number.”

Eloise slapped Veko’s hand as it reached for his scars. “Why?”

“She’s my... ninth horse.”

There was beat before Eloise burst out laughing. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Veko smirked to cover his embarrassment. “So I’ve been told.”

Eloise rolled her eyes and headed over to the opposite end of the barn. The far wall was lined with bales of hay. Before she could even reach for one, Veko rushed over and hoisted one over his shoulder. Eloise put her hands on her hips.

“You know I’ve been doing this for years even before you showed up, right?” And she had a point; what was wrong with him?

“I, uh,” he looked anywhere but at Eloise, trying to find an excuse. “I figured it’s... been a while since I’ve been here so I, uh, owe you. I guess.”

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

“Yes.”

Eloise laughed. “Ok then,” she said, heading back out of the barn. “I’ll get the gate at least.”

Veko followed Eloise to the paddock and held Ren by a leather strap around her neck while he made his way through the gate. The other goats immediately began following him. As soon as the hay hit the ground, the goats descended. Eloise let Ren go and the other goats parted to let her through.

“I never realized how scary goats were,” Veko said as Eloise latched the gate closed.

“To be fair, I have quite the herd of characters,” she replied. “Most people have a rooster to wake them at sunrise; I have Georgina and her screaming. Ren is like my own personal guard hound. Sometimes she gets out and chases off anyone who gets near the house. The others are still young, yet, but they’re slowly starting to show their personalities.”

“I’ll stick with horses, I think,” Veko said. “They’re enough trouble as it is.”

“Apparently!” Eloise laughed as she and Veko made their way back to the house. “Seeing as you’ve had nine of them!”

“This is a dangerous job!” Veko defended, but the tone was joking. “Plus in the grand scheme of things, nine horses hasn’t been a lot for how long I’ve been on the Path.”

Eloise’s brow furrowed. “How old are you?”

“Old.”

Eloise scoffed and started gathering some of her paints. Veko followed her into her art room, not sure what else to do at this point, and found the walls covered in different paintings than the last time he’d been here. One in an ornate frame was her father, exactly as real as if he was standing before them.

Eloise picked up a few leather straps from one of the tables. “Help me with something,” she said. “I’m going to repaint the goats’ collars and I don’t know what color to give who. I want you to help me decide.”

“Ok?” Veko said, taking a seat. “Why?”

“Something you said to my father, when you saved him,” Eloise replied. “It always confused him. He told you he lived in the house with the blue roof and you said it suited him. Why?”

Veko went to scratch his scars, but instead balled his hand into the fabric of his pants. “Well, it’s, uh,” he hesitated. Of all things for that old man to focus on!

“My father was always fascinated with color,” Eloise said, as if sensing Veko needed a minute. “That’s how I got into painting. He was never content with something being the original color it was. Hence, the blue roof. He said that you saying the blue suited him kind of, I don’t know, validated him.”

Veko’s chest felt tight. Now he felt fucking terrible for not being here before. Maybe Eloise’s father would’ve understood, or at least found it interesting that—

Veko cleared his throat. “So, sometimes,” he began, staring down at his hands. “When I think of things, or names, or... well anything, really. I get these senses.” When he looked up, Eloise was enraptured. “Like, your father, just looking at him, the color blue came to mind. I don’t know why.”

“Just colors?”

Veko shook his head. “Smells, sometimes. Like when I think of you... I, uh, I think of the smell of your paints.”

“That’s... that’s fascinating, Veko,” Eloise said. “Tell me more?”

Veko gestured to the collars. “Well, you’re trying to figure out what color for what goat. As soon as you said Georgina, green came to mind. I don’t know why. And Ren is red, but not because the name and word are close. Uh, sometimes when I picture my supplies in my pack, I see them like they’re all laid out on the table, lined up side-by-side, despite the fact that I know damn well they’re a jumbled mess in my bag. And in my head, the order is always the same. I kinda do the same thing with months. I see them lined up like squares on a wall.” Veko grimaced. Fuck. “No, ‘see’ is the wrong word, cuz I don’t—I’m not hallucinating or anything!”

“I believe you,” Eloise said softly, taking one of Veko’s hands in hers. And she was telling the truth. Veko felt the tension in his body release.

“It’s weird, I know,” he said. “So I don’t normally say anything. When I was younger the trainers thought my head got fucked up by the mutagens but it’s just the way I’ve always been.”

“Does your brother have this too?”

“No,” Veko chuckled. “But he’s been the most receptive to it, even if he doesn’t understand it. Like, his favorite color is green, but when I think of him I think of like an indigo color. And I’m red, but I don’t know why.”

“What about me?” Veko met Eloise’s gaze and held it. The look on her face was one of honest curiosity and interest. She smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. “What do you see when you think of me?”

Veko swallowed. “I see turquoise, like the color your dress was the first time we met. I don’t know if it’s because that’s what you were wearing or what, but when I think ‘Eloise’ I think of that faint turquoise color.”

“Does it work for family names?”

“Sometimes. What is your full name, anyway?”

“Eloise Calold.”

Veko cocked his head to the side. “Yellow,” he said. “Calold is yellow.”

“But not because of anything I’m wearing,” Eloise said, gesturing to the paint-stained brown smock she was currently wearing.

“Guess not.”

“Veko,” Eloise breathed. “That is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard of. So you see colors? Or, think in colors? I wish I had that. I wonder how it would affect my art. I wonder how it would affect your art.”

Veko pulled away and put his hands up. “Hey, whoa, who said anything about me being an artist?” he said.

Eloise laughed. “I bet you’re better than you think,” she said.

“I bet not.”

Eloise smirked. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll drop the subject if you do something for me.”

“Name it?”

“Let me paint you.”

Veko again was struck silent. She wanted to paint him? Apparently his mouth was hanging open, because Eloise tapped his chin to close it. “Why?” he managed.

“Because,” she replied. “We’re... friends. Or I like to think we are. And in case... in case something happens to you...” she gazed at the painting of her father, smiling down warmly at them, “I want you to be immortalized with him.”

What the fuck could Veko say to that? “Oh. Ok,” he said dumbly. “Uh. How do you want me?”

Eloise jumped up and ran for a blank canvas. “Whatever’s comfortable!” she called. “It takes a while.”

Veko just... sat there as Eloise began setting up. He turned this way and that, never quite settling, before Eloise huffed and dragged an armchair over. Veko abandoned the stool he’d been on and sat back into the warn leather.

“Better,” he said. He turned, scar facing away, and immediately Eloise’s hand reached out to turn him back. Her fingers grazed the puckered mess that was his cheek and he flinched.

“I’m sorry,” Eloise said gently. “I just—I want to see it.”

“Why?” Veko whispered.

“Because it’s a part of you,” Eloise replied. “And gods know I’ve kept you from scratching it enough.”

There was a moment where neither of them said a word. Veko’s heart sped in his chest like it hadn’t in many years. Eloise gazed over his burn scars and gently brushed her fingers over them again. Veko didn’t flinch this time, but just barely. Her fingers were cool against the phantom heat of his burns, and as she traced the expanse of them along his jaw, he couldn’t hold back the full-body shiver the touch elicited.

Eloise pulled back and Veko scrambled to find something to say before she said anything else about them. “So—so how does this work?” he asked. “I, uh, I just sit here?”

Eloise nodded and finally pulled back. “Yes,” she said, not meeting his gaze. Now that he was out of his own head, Veko could hear her heart hammering in her chest. “Just, um, get comfortable, relax, and um, don’t... don’t move, if you can help it.”

Veko grinned. “Ok.” Eloise nodded and began mixing a few paints.

Veko just... watched her. As brush met paint and paint met canvas, he could almost see the cogs turning in her head. Instead of sticking her tongue out, like he’d heard some artists do, she made faces. A stroke here and her mouth pinched to the side; stroke there and her mouth opened in a little ‘o’.

Veko wanted to slip into meditation, as that would be the best way to sit still for her, but he found he just couldn’t. As much as Eloise was watching him for her painting, he wanted to watch her. He couldn’t help but think of the last time they’d seen each other, and what he thought of her then. She wasn’t all that attractive, merely plain by any standards. Her laugh was unladylike and jarring. She intimidated him. She swore. She—

She made him dinner. She let him sleep in her home. She told him stories and listened to his in turn. She wanted his opinions. She found his mental crap fascinating. She worried for him. She cried for him!

She called them friends.

As Veko sat, watching Eloise paint his portrait, a warm weight settled in his gut. He didn’t want to leave in the morning. Hells, he didn’t want her to ever finish this bloody painting. And although emotions aren’t exactly a Witcher’s strong point, he had a sinking suspicion that what he was feeling...

Fuck.

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 4,240 Sam x Reader Warnings: none really! Summary: What what! Ohhh the feels... In the aftermath of Sam's break-up, he is sorting through his feeeeelings. A/N: Stuff is happeningggg. This is Part 8 of a series. Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

“What is that?” Dean stared at the book in Sam’s hands. “Sammy, are you serious? Come on, man. You can’t be reading that depressing Russian stuff… No wonder you’re always moping around here lately…”

“Okay, first of all, I have not been moping. Second, this is one of the greatest literary works of all time.”

“Dostoevsky?” you asked, stepping into the library, snacking on a small bowl of pretzels. Dean immediately plunged his hand into it and stole a few and you tried to wrestle the bowl back away from him.

Sam laughed at the exchange. “Yeah,” Sam said. “The writing is incredible.” He stuck a slip of paper in the book to mark his place and shut it, turning to give you a small smile as you slapped Dean’s hand away as he reached for your bowl again.

“Ow!” Dean gave you a sour look but ceased trying to steal your snack. “Alright. We need a hunt. There has been entirely too much sitting around here lately,” he said.

“Have you forgotten that my hand is still in a cast?” Sam said, gesturing with his injured hand.

“No. But Y/N and I don’t need you,” he said with a snarky grin.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know what to say even…”

“I don’t know. You probably could have started with ‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye and just ran off’,” you said, your tone a little harsh. You thought your anger had abated somewhat over the last few weeks, but maybe not enough. “‘Sorry I lied to you and Dean and, worst of all, Sam’ for—for how long exactly?”

There was only silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “Look, I was just calling to tell you that I’m going home for a while. So, if you were wondering where I am, that’s where I’ll be.”

“…what about this mystery man?” you asked her. “Is that over already?”

“No, but… I just need to sort through some things.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

Another pause on the other end. “I am really, really sorry that I lied to you.”

“Yeah, well… I hope you learned something from all this.” Dean and Sam came wandering out of the library, expressions of concern on their faces. “I gotta go.” And with that you hung up.

Dean’s eyebrows raised in an inquisitive expression. You shrugged. “My sister. She’s going home for a while. I mean, not home exactly, you know, but out hometown.”

The Winchesters nodded. “So, about that hunt, Dean…” you said.

Dean looked eager but Sam still looked uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of you hunting without him being there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you and Dean’s skills he just… the thought of sitting out helpless filled him with fear. It was just the what ifs.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam watched from the Impala as the door to the building busted open and you and Dean came rushing out. You were limping and Dean had your arm over his shoulder, taking some of your weight. Your left pant leg was soaked with blood below the knee. Sam threw open the door and was immediately on his feet, rushing over to you and Dean, his expression completely consumed by worry.

Dean had a shadow of what would certainly be a nasty bruise around one of his eyes soon, but he looked otherwise no worse for wear. When Sam got close he could see a large gash through your jeans on your calf. You gritted your teeth but gave him a smile through the grimace as he looked back up to you, his face clouded with unease. “Oops,” was all you said.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked urgently, moving to your other side to take more of your weight.

“Well, I may have gotten thrown into a pile of rusty metal. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Coven was a little bigger than we anticipated,” Dean said gruffly from the other side. “They were hurling curses at us from all directions as soon as we walked in. God, I fuckin’ hate witches…”

“Dammit, Dean! I told you this was a bad idea!” Sam scolded him, his heart racing with his anxiety. “We should have waited!”

“Sam, I’m fine. It’s not that bad,” you said, doing your best to reassure him. You tried to hide how much pain you were in. The gash in your leg was deep. It would need stitching. “If we had waited, there would be more dead people and probably more witches. I’m okay, really.”

The muscle in Sam’s jaw tensed. “You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Dean rushed to open the door to the Impala for you, giving Sam a moment to look you over more thoroughly. You had little cuts and nicks everywhere and he was sure that you’d be pretty banged up and bruised tomorrow. The furrows in his brow deepened.

“Well, I’m gonna need stitches for sure. But I’m fine,” you said. Sam slipped his arm from around you and immediately unbuttoned his flannel. He ripped off one of the sleeves easily and bent to tie it around your leg, which was difficult with his casted hand but he managed.

You breathed in a sharp hiss of air as he tightened the fabric over the gash.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” You gave him a tight smile, but Sam could see beads of sweat breaking out along your hairline. You were clearly doing your best to downplay the injury.

“Alright. Come on, hot rod,” Dean said, rushing back around the Impala to help you hobble over to the car and slide into the back seat. You leaned back against the headrest and shut your eyes as soon as you were inside. Sam slipped in next to you, his tall frame a little cramped in the back seat, but he wanted to keep a close eye on you for the drive back to the motel.

In no time the Winchesters were helping you back inside their room and Dean was pulling stuff out of the first aid kit. Sam helped you sit down on the edge of one of the beds, and you swung your legs onto it. You pressed your back up against the headboard and Sam sat down on the other bed, facing you.

You looked over at him. “Sam, would you mind pouring me a nice, big glass of whiskey?” you gave him a pleading smile. “I’d like to be a little bit intoxicated while Dean sews my calf muscle closed.”

Sam felt a pang of regret but he got up and grabbed a glass, pouring in a generous share of hunter’s helper. But he also grabbed a second glass and filled it with cold water from the tap. He brought them both over to you, handing you the whiskey and setting the water glass beside you on the nightstand. “Just make sure you drink some of the water too. Please,” he said, giving you a serious look.

“You got it,” you said, nodding. You immediately downed the entire tumbler of whiskey and Sam sighed heavily, giving you an anxious look.

Dean was ready with the first aid kit and he had filled up the ice bucket with warm water. “Sammy, would you go grab all the towels and washcloths from the bathroom?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Sure.” Sam came back with a stack of towels.

“Alright, boss,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself here,” he said, untying the scrap of Sam’s flannel from around the gash and shoving a towel underneath your leg.

You could already feel a warmth starting to grow in your chest and head from the whiskey. “Hey, I didn’t do anything to myself,” you retorted. “I didn’t put that pile of scrap metal there and I certainly didn’t throw myself into it.”

Dean laughed gruffly. “No, you did not.” He pulled out his knife.

“What the hell is that for?” Sam asked urgently.

“Well, I need to get into Y/N’s pants and quite frankly we don’t have time for my usual process, so—” he said, throwing a smirk specifically in Sam’s direction.

“Dean!” you scolded him, but you couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. You felt your cheeks growing a little pink. Sam threw a dirty look at his older brother.

Dean slipped the knife into the cut through your jeans and slid it around your leg, cutting away your lower pant leg so he could better see the wound. He tugged the scrap of fabric off and tossed it to the floor. “Yikes. Okay. Here we go.” Sam watched fixedly as Dean washed away the blood on your leg and poured some disinfectant over the area, eliciting a few expletives from you due to the burn. Sam watched you grit your teeth and clench a fist, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back against the headrest for a moment.

He came around Dean to your side and gently touched you on the shoulder. Your eyes shot open and met his kind, warm hazel ones. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think that whiskey is really starting to kick in,” you said. Your head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy and the warmth you felt in your chest was expanding outward.

Dean’s voice called your attention back to your leg. “Alright. I’m gonna start stitching you up. You ready?”

You gulped and nodded, bracingly yourself for the pinch of the needle and the uncomfortable sensation of the tug of the thread. Sam sat down next to you on the edge of the bed and held out his uninjured hand to you. You felt yourself blushing a little, and your heart responded in a nervous whir, but you placed your hand in his. Dean began.

“Son of a—!” you squeezed Sam’s hand in yours and shut your eyes, doing your best to take steadying breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. Sam watched Dean work carefully.

“Dean, you gotta make your stitches smaller—”

Dean shot an annoyed glance at his brother. “Really, Sam? You know this isn’t my first rodeo? You wanna get in here and do it? Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re a cripple. So, why don’t you just be quiet and let me work, okay?” He turned back to his work, working skillfully and quickly.

You gave Sam’s hand a squeeze and despite the sting of the needle couldn’t help from giving him a small smile. His worry was so sweet… You felt the effect of the whiskey growing and let out a sigh, drawing a look from Sam.

“You okay?” he asked, more anxiety on your behalf manifesting in a small worry line near one of his eyebrows. You heart was racing from the way he was looking at you and the feeling of your hand in his.

“Mmm. Mhm,” you managed, pointing to your head with your free hand. “Whiskey,” you said. You heard Dean let out a gruff laugh.

“You frickin’ lightweight,” his deep voice said.

You ignored him and shut your eyes against another pass of the needle, giving Sam’s hand another tight squeeze. You felt his thumb suddenly passing over the back of your hand so softly it was almost as if you were imagining it. Your heart skipped a beat and nervous butterflies appeared in your stomach.

“Almost done,” Dean said. Another minute and he tied off the stitches and wiped the blood from your leg again. He grabbed the antibiotic ointment, applied it to your leg, and wrapped the whole thing up with gauze. “Done,” he announced, giving you a crooked half-smile.

You stared down at your leg, all wrapped up. “I’m part mummy now,” you said. The Winchester brothers had a comically similar expression on their faces, eyebrows lifted at the slight slur in your voice. They exchanged an amused look.

Sam was relieved, and his face broke into a small smile, deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. You were fine. “…How about some water, Y/N?” Sam asked, picking up the glass from the nightstand and handing it to you. You accepted it obediently and took a sip. Sam moved down toward your feet and untied and pulled off your boots. He tugged off the sock from your injured leg, which was soaked with blood. Dean was gathering up the bloodstained towels and throwing them in the laundry bag by the bathroom.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said. The slur was even more obvious in your voice when you said his name.

He sat down on the other bed across from you, a little amused smile still on his face, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced a little awkwardly due to his cast. God, you loved those dimples. “ ‘Sammy’, huh?” he said.

You nodded, sipping some more water. “Sorry. Should I not call you that? Only Dean is allowed to call you that.” You were holding his eyes unabashedly. The whiskey was giving you a little more courage.

The smile on Sam’s face grew. “I’m okay with it. You’re the only other person I don’t mind calling me ‘Sammy’.” His face turned serious again though as he looked at the other little nicks and cuts on your hands and face. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the nearby stack and wet it with warm water from the ice bucket. He pressed it gently to a cut on the back of your hand, wiping away the dried blood. Your eyes stayed fixated on his face while he worked, drinking him in. There was another cut near your collarbone and Sam’s heart started to race.

“Um, do you mind if I—?” he asked, gesturing to the crimson mark.

Your eyes didn’t leave his face. He could have asked you for anything at that moment. You shook your head in answer to his question and Sam watched you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth for a moment, not knowing it was from nerves and that continued blooming feeling of warmth in your chest. He gulped at the nervous tightness in his own throat and wondered again at how intimate this felt with you, how the air seemed charged. He couldn’t even really remember a time when he had felt this with anyone else.

Sam gently pressed the washcloth to your skin, dabbing at the cut, wiping away the dried blood there. You shut your eyes at the sensation and leaned your head back against the headboard. Your leg was aching and burning, but you felt surprisingly relaxed even though your heart was racing in your chest with Sam so close to you. You worried he would hear it pounding.

“That’s better,” Sam said, drawing away from you again, feeling the space between you growing as if each inch were a mile. Your eyes flutter open again and you caught his.

“Thank you.”

Sam nodded, giving you a half-smile that had a flood of thoughts behind it. Just then Dean stepped back out of the bathroom and went to the small minifridge. He grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and a beer from the fridge. Sinking down into the armchair in the corner, he wrapped the ice pack in a towel and applied it to his cheek and eye. He popped the beer open with another hand and let out a loud sigh. “Well. That’s that,” he said. Dean gave Sam a knowing look, obviously sensing some mood in the room, and Sam was grateful that your eyes were closed again so you didn’t catch it.

You let out a yawn and Dean stood up, his hand still pressing the cold pack over his eye. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. Y/N, you can take my bed tonight when you’re tired. I think I’ll just go crash in your room now…” Dean gave a pointed look to Sam whose eyes went a little wide. He gulped nervously and gave Dean a questioning and somewhat harried look. Dean only grinned at him. “Alright. Well, hope you can get some rest even with that leg, Y/N,” Dean said. “Night,” he added, opening and disappearing through the door to your adjoining room with his beer.

Those nervous butterflies flitted to life again as you glanced over at Sam. He gave you a small but bright smile, and it lit up the multifaceted hues in his eyes. “Are you tired?” he asked you.

You shrugged a little vaguely. “I can’t tell,” you said. “I just feel… warm.”

“Warm?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Whiskey.” Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so relieved that you were alright, that your leg wasn’t worse. He smiled at the answer and slur in your voice.

“Yeah, you sound a little like whiskey,” he joked.

“Sorry about your flannel,” you said suddenly. Sam cocked his head in a question. “You ripped it. And then I bled all over it.” This elicited another laugh from Sam and he shook his head.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He looked thoughtful and glanced down at his cast, resting his other hand over it. “I hate this,” he said. “Not being able to be on the hunt. Being out of commission. Sucks,” he said, catching your eyes. “But I stand by what I said before. I’d still do it for you again.”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth nervously again and Sam watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked away. God, that drove him crazy.

You managed to find your voice somehow. “You know, I’d do the same thing for you.”

Sam’s heart hammered harder in his chest. He wanted to kiss you so badly right then. The way you were looking at him went straight through him, straight to his heart. But your words were still a little slurred from the whiskey and it just wasn’t the time. He finally tore his eyes away and straightened up from where he was sitting. “You should rest. Now we need you to heal up fast, too.”

You nodded and watched fondly as Sam went over to his duffel bag and pulled out his book, settling in against the headboard of the other bed to read. Sometime shortly after, you fell asleep, still propped back against the headboard, your head lolled forward. Sam shut his book and got up as quietly as he could. He slipped his arms around you, one underneath your knees and one behind your back, and gently moved you farther down in the bed so your head was on the pillow. You stirred only a little as he slipped away from you again, his heart jumping at the feeling of you in his arms, no matter how brief. Sam grabbed the comforter and folded it over you, shutting off the light on the nightstand and laying down in his bed, even though he knew sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you… and whether he ever would find the right moment to tell you how he felt, or to show you.

You awoke to a cruel ache in your injured leg and glanced at the clock next to you, glowing in the darkness. It was just after 2 am. You realized you were covered over with the blanket and knew Sam must have done it, and you smiled at his sweet kindness, always so consistent. You started to slip out of bed but you immediately heard Sam’s quiet voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You smiled. “I’m okay. I just have need some ibuprofen for my leg,” you said.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, immediately climbing out of bed.

“You don’t have to get up, just go back to sleep. I’m fine,” you reassured him, but he was already refilling your water glass and digging the pill bottle out of the first aid kit.

“I was already awake. It’s okay,” he said, handing it to you.

Your brow drew down low over your eyes as you accepted it from him. “You were? Sam, you need sleep,” you said, and the worry was heavy in your voice.

“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m hunting right now. Sitting around at the bunker doesn’t require much sleep. I’m okay.”

You swallowed a few painkillers and looked at him for a long moment. “Come over here,” you said, patting the empty other side of the bed.

Sam felt a jolt of electricity up his spine. “What?”

You gave him a small smile, sweet and warm and kind. “Just come here,” you said, laying back down in your bed, stretching your injured leg out, turning to face toward the other side of the bed.

Sam swallowed hard at the nervous bundle in his throat. His heart was absolutely pounding. He worked up the courage and made his way around to the empty side of your bed, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening.

“C’mere,” you said gently. “Lay down.”

Sam swallowed hard again and laid down beside you. As soon as his head settled on the pillow beside you, you slipped your fingers into his hair and ran them gently through the silky strands. Sam shut his eyes at the sensation. It was raising goosebumps on his skin and he felt his mind instantly quiet. He could have laid there forever, so close to you but not quite touching, your fingers running through his hair. He drifted off to a deep and peaceful sleep for the first time in a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean was up quite early, checking his black eye in the mirror and frowning at the dark purples and broken blood vessels ringing his eye like a halo. He wanted to shower and change, but he’d left all his clothes in the other room. He made his way to the door and listened carefully for a moment. He didn’t hear any movement and it was still pretty early, so he figured you and Sam must both still be asleep. He cracked the door open as quietly as he could and peeked inside. He was surprised to see you and Sam both asleep on the same bed. You were separated by half a foot but your bodies were clearly angled toward one another and Dean smiled even wider when he noticed that your hand and Sam’s were quite close, and perhaps had been intertwined at some point.

Dean tiptoed in and made his way over to his duffel bag, shouldering it as quietly as he could and trying to sneak back out of the room, but he heard movement behind him as he was nearing the door and glanced over his shoulder to see Sam was now awake, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed Dean with a struck expression and rose from the bed.

Dean grinned widely at his little brother and wiggled his eyebrows at him, his hand on the doorknob to the other room. Sam looked nervous and glanced back down at you before crossing the space to Dean and pushing him into the other room, shutting the door behind them both.

Dean couldn’t suppress the smile on his face and Sam was shifting his weight a little anxiously from one foot to the other. “Did you have a good night, Sammy?” he asked through his grin.

Sam swallowed hard. “Nothing happened, Dean, so you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’d say something happened. That’s the first time you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in how long? Aaaand you were in the same bed, sooo…”

Sam gave his brother an appraising look. “Nothing happened.”

Dean just laughed gruffly. “Come on, Sammy. Even just sleeping in the same bed… that’s—that’s something. That can be… intimate.”

Sam gulped at the tightness in his throat and swayed a little on his feet as Dean slapped him hard on the back and then departed for the bathroom.

It did feel like something.

[icasttourniquet]

Can Your Character Survive... Altered Mental Status

Character E is confused. She thinks she's talking to someone besides Character F and accidentally admits that she has a crush on F while F is treating her injury. Oops.

Or, F is trying to get E out of the enemy base and E keeps laughing when F shushes her, attracting the attention of the guards

Whether for comedy or tension, altered mental status can add a fun wrinkle to your plot. But, what causes altered mental status and how do you make sure E survives?

STOPEATS

The big kahuna of the altered mental status world is the acronym STOPEATS. If it makes your brain go a bit wonky, it's probably included in STOPEATS.

Sugar

If E is a diabetic and lost track of her sugar intake, she could suffer from altered mental status as a part of hyperglycemia. If F knows E has diabetes, he can hopefully guess at the cause of her confusion and help her take her medication, or get her to a hospital.

Temperature

When the body gets really cold or really hot, the brain can stop working right. In fact, altered mental status is a key sign of being hypothermic vs. just cold. Ditto with heat stroke. Hopefully, the environment makes if obvious to F what is causing E's weird behavior. He can treat her by bringing her out of the cold or heat.

Oxygen

Hypoxia occurs when the brain is starved of oxygen, such as at a high altitude. It is most common in mountain climbers and pilots, such as the one in this video who reports having "no control" of his aircraft but otherwise, is not concerned at all about the situation. Astronomers may also suffer from hypoxia on occasion.

XKCD 1463: Altitude

Hypoxic people behave as if drunk. They are often euphoric, may speak slowly, and will act confused. The key treatment for high-altitude hypoxia is reducing altitude ASAP. In the video, you can hear the air traffic controller trying to coax the pilot lower. He knows he doesn't need the pilot to land—as soon as he can breathe a little better, he'll remember how to fly be able to land himself.

Pressure

If a brain injury causes bleeding in the skull, that blood has nowhere to go and can build up pressure. This causes the brain to lose functioning and is called intracranial pressure (ICP). It's the worst type of traumatic brain injury (TBI) besides one that just kills E outright.

If E is suffering from ICP, she'll probably be confused and behaving erratically. She may have gaps in her memory as well. Most likely, she'll also report "the worst headache of my life"—literally. In training, we were told to look out for that exact phrase when diagnosing head taumas. In later stages of ICP, E may also vomit, a lot.

Treatment involves getting to surgery ASAP so a doctor can cut open her skull and relieve some of the pressure. For obvious reasons, that is not something we attempt in the field.

Electricity

I'll be honest: I think they just wanted the acronym to work when they made this one E. What they actually mean in most cases is seizures. The classic seizure is a grand mal seizure, which involves the muscles tensing, twitching, etc. But seizures come in all shapes and sizes. For some, a seizure might mean smelling something that isn't there, or hearing music, or a single twitching muscle. Because seizures are unauthorized electrical activity in the brain, they can cause disorientation and erratic behavior.

Often, coming out of a seizure can be quite disorienting too. If F is helping E through a seizure, he should first try to prevent her from harming herself. If she's banging her head against the wall, that means putting a hand or pillow there. If she's near a table, that means moving the table. (NO sitting on / restraining people with seizures and NO putting stuff in their mouth! No! Why? You want them to choke? No!). As she recovers, F can remain calm, help her understand what happened if she needs it, and get her further care if requested.

Altitude

As with temperature, both very high and very low altitudes can cause brain problems (if you are beginning to suspect the brain is just a picky organ, you'd be correct). Scuba divers who ascend too quickly can suffer from nitrogen narcosis, which can lead to euphoria, confusion, memory loss, difficulty concentration, etc. (all classic signs of altered mental status).

If E goes too high, say, on a mountain, she could suffer from High-Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE—controversial opinion but high-altitude stuff has all the good acronyms and names, HACE being but one example). It occurs when the brain swells at a high altitude and leads to confusion, lethargy, and a headache.

Luckily, as with most high-altitude problems, it can be solved quickly by going lower. When in doubt, on a mountain, taking the patient to a lower altitude is probably a good idea.

Toxins

Alcohol, LSD, marijuana, morphine—drugs cause altered mental status, as can bites or stings from venemous animals.

There are as many ways to treat toxins as there are toxins, maybe more, so I leave you with a fun fact the majority of snake bites in the US are people who tried to pick up the snakes.

In the words of Mod N's WFR instructor: "Red near black? Who cares. It's a snake. Why are you messing with snakes?"

Salt

Salt concentrations across cell membranes is one way nutrients travel into and out of cells. If E's blood suddenly has way less salt (electrolytes) than normal, this causes all the nutrients to flow out of her cells and into her blood, starving her organs. Brains run on salt and not having enough salt makes... neurons fire different? Stop firing? Something scientific and complicated. For our purposes: not enough salt = brain go weird.

This is called hyponatremia and is my favorite of all the STOPEATS ailments. Hyponatremic people behave as if drunk. The treatment is to 1) stop chugging water, 2) stop competing in your high-endurance sport (and therefore stop sweating), and 3) drink / eat something salty.

Conclusion

Give your characters altered mental statuses. It will be fun. I promise.

The most easily treatable problems that make brain go weird are: hypoxia and high-altitude cerebral edema.

Please write more characters with hyponatremia.

[justanother-unluckysoul]

OUAT Fic: For Love And Revenge, PG-13, Killian/Milah

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Killian Jones, Rumpelstiltskin

Word count: 2867

Summary:  "His arm throbs in time with his pulse and his heart aches, and he can’t tell if that’s an emotional pain from losing the love of his life or a real remnant of the Dark One’s attempt to rip out his heart. " Killian tries to come to terms with losing Milah and his hand. Tag to 2x04.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.

A/N: Apologies for taking this fic down earlier but I wasn’t fully happy with how I’d written certain things. But it’s back now and with an extra thousand words! (I only intended to tidy up a few parts but oops, I may have gotten carried away.)

For Love And Revenge

“Even demons can be killed,” Killian is aiming for a threatening snarl, but his voice cracks, “I will find a way.”

“Well, good luck living long enough,” replies Rumpelstiltskin, somehow still managing to taunt him even with a hook stuck in his chest, and he disappears in a dark red cloud.

The hook clatters to the deck. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy to kill him, else the Dark One would never have left himself open to such an attack. Killian’s balance feels off as he picks up the hook. Anger and fear can only drive a wounded man so far, and Killian quickly realizes he's reached the end of its capacity to keep him going. And suddenly his legs don't want to hold him up, and he feels like he's going to be sick. He stumbles to the rail of the ship. He doesn't vomit though, and after a brief interval wondering if he will or not, Killian turns and slumps down to the deck, his back against the railing. His first mate, John, is at his side in a moment.

"Get me something to tie off his arm!" calls John, raising Killian's left arm to slow the bleeding.

There's a flurry of movement. Killian's eyes are drawn back to Milah's body. He reaches for her but she’s further away than he thought. He’s suddenly desperate to have her back in his arms, but someone is holding him down and a scream of rage and grief builds in his throat. He doesn’t even have the strength to voice it. A strange coldness has taken over him. He feels as though he’s in a dream. John is tying something tightly around his forearm. Maybe a belt.

"You're gonna be alright, Captain," John says, "But I need you to stay awake, you understand?"

"Aye," murmurs Killian.

He has every intention of staying awake, but when he's pulled to his feet, the world slips away from him.

He dreams of crocodiles and hooks and Milah dying in his arms. He wakes with her name on his lips.

"Easy, now," says a stranger, "Don't be moving around just yet."

Killian recoils, not recognizing where he is, nor the man leaning over him. He’s also none too pleased to realize that he’s shirtless. Lurching sideways, he rolls off the table and he's on his feet in a quick movement. The action awakens all sorts of aches and pains in his body, dizziness suddenly overwhelming, and he reaches for the edge of the table with his left hand to steady himself. There's a brief moment of sickening realization, but it's too late. Killian goes down hard and barely avoids smacking his head on the table on his way. The fall jars his wounded arm, sending shooting pains from his wrist to his elbow and Killian barely holds in a scream.

"Oi, what did I just tell you?" the stranger says, sounding annoyed.

He hauls Killian to his feet and deposits him back on the table with ease, uncaring of the discomfort the further abrupt motion causes to Killian. The stranger is a big man, Killian thinks, and one he could not take in a fight in this condition. So Killian stays where he's put, cradling his burning left arm, hoping that his carefully measured breaths will quell the churning in his stomach. His head is pounding. If Killian didn't know better, he'd almost believe he'd had too much rum the night before. But he does know better, as his mind helpfully supplies him with the vivid memory of Milah going limp in his arms as the Dark One crushed her heart into dust. Killian’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head a little to dispel the image.

"Drink, it will help with the sickness," says the stranger, his voice gentler now that Killian’s being compliant.

Speaking of rum…Killian takes the offered cup and sniffs it cautiously before taking a sip. It’s not rum, of course. It's hot, spicy, somehow feeling both warming and cooling in his mouth. He finishes it quickly and his stomach does feel calmer having done so, so he risks a closer look at his... He was going to call it his hand but it's not anymore, is it? Well, whatever. It's wrapped tightly in thick bandages, blood peeking through faintly, and he can't quite believe that his hand is really gone. He can almost feel his fingers, imagines that if he tried, he could still clench his missing hand into a fist. But obviously when he tries to do that there's no response from his phantom hand. An uncomfortable shiver runs down his spine and Killian swiftly forces his attention outward.

“I assume this is your handiwork?” he asks of the stranger.

"Yes."

“Then I believe you’ve saved my life. You have my thanks.”

Killian's gratitude sounds hollow even to his own ears. The physician only grunts in response and drapes a rather scratchy blanket around Killian. He’s thankful for the security it offers. His shirts are in a blood-stained pile on the floor, except for his leather coat, which the physician has kindly hung on a hook by the door.

“The wound was partially healed already, by magic, I’m told,” the physician explains, “You are a lucky man, Captain. Whoever did this to you wanted you to live.”

There’s a clear question on the man’s face, although he doesn’t voice it and Killian would refuse to answer anyway. A lucky man. He’s the furthest thing from lucky. He’d rather be dead than live a day without Milah. But he had sworn he’d find a way to kill the Dark One, and Killian’s tired misery slowly ignites to anger again. There are footsteps outside the door, and it swings open to reveal John, carrying clean clothes.

"Captain," John says in greeting, and he looks as though he would say something further but thinks better of it.

“If you’re going to ask me when he can leave, the answer is when he can stand up without falling on his face,” the physician declares.

Killian bristles at that.

“I’m fine,” he growls.

And to prove it he forces himself to stand again, though he’s prepared for the dizzy spell this time, and remembers to balance himself with the right hand. But even after the dizziness abates, it’s still a struggle to remain on his feet. Everything hurts. And the physician only raises an eyebrow at Killian’s efforts, clearly not convinced of his ability to leave.

“And without using the table as a crutch?” he asks, even daring to smirk a little.

Killian wants to punch the man for taking that tone with him. Instead he grits his teeth and lets go of the table, clenching his hand into a fist to try to stop it shaking. He doesn't need help. Putting on his shirt and coat proves a little tricky with one hand and his centre of balance refusing to settle, but a warning glance at John keeps his first mate back. He doesn't need help.

“Make sure he gets plenty of rest,” the physician tells John, not Killian, as though John has any say in what his Captain does, “His body has been through a lot. And if he gets feverish--”

"Got it,” snaps Killian, heading for the door before the physician can make any more demands, probably to do with leeches or something.

The walk back to the Jolly Roger is miserable and Killian quickly regrets turning down John’s offer to find him a cart to ride back in. Now he can’t hear John’s words clearly over the rushing sound in his ears that grows louder the further he pushes himself, and eventually John stops trying. Killian’s too focused on walking in a straight line to care what John has to say anyway. His arm throbs in time with his pulse and his heart aches, and he can’t tell if that’s an emotional pain from losing the love of his life or a real remnant of the Dark One’s attempt to rip out his heart. Finally the ship comes into view. Killian steps onto the deck, planting his feet firmly, forcing a smile at his relieved crew. But he knows his body is moments away from betraying him. He mumbles an excuse and quickly heads for his quarters. He barely makes it down the ladder and when he steps off onto the floor, Killian nearly collapses right there. It’s an effort to stagger the last few steps to the bed, and he barely avoids landing on his wounded arm when he flops onto the mattress. He hates being so weak.

Killian's not sure how long it's been before he feels recovered enough to rise. He must have lain there all night because shortly after the fog in his mind dissipates, John brings him food and water, and reminds him that it's time to change the bandages. Killian can’t bring himself to eat. He takes several mouthfuls of rum instead and his eyes dare John to say anything about it. John wisely keeps his mouth shut on the subject.

"Tommy had this made for you," John says instead, and he deposits what appears to be a pile of leather on the table before leaving Killian to his unpleasant task.

Carefully, Killian unwinds the bandages from his… he still catches himself thinking hand. But looking at the swollen, disfigured mess that is the end of his arm for the first time pushes that thought out of his mind. It’s obvious that Rumpelstiltskin’s magical healing had been carefully designed to keep him alive with no regard for anything else. A horrible cold feeling washes over Killian and he can barely hold his right hand steady as he pours some of the rum over his wound to stave off infection, the agony of it nearly more than he can take. There’ll be no leeches around here, just a waste of good rum. It’s a small price to pay. When the pain eases and Killian can see clearly again, he risks standing and examining the item John had left for him. It’s a leather sleeve of sorts designed to fit over the stump of his arm. It has a hole in the centre so Killian can attach a tool of his choice to it, in place of a hand, and straps to hold it firmly in place. He's seen several men with similar fashions. He never dreamed he'd wear one himself.

 Once he’s sure he can walk straight, Killian returns to the deck, wounded arm still tucked close to his side. It feels better though, now protected by the leather. The deck has been well scrubbed clean of his blood and… other things. Milah’s crushed heart, Killian’s cruel mind reminds him, ignoring the attempt he’d made to not think of that. But he slips easily back into his role as Captain, barking out orders and shortly they are heading out to sea. Preparing Milah’s body for her burial is a tricky thing with one hand, not helped by the fact that his one hand won’t stop shaking, but the crew has wisely and unanimously decided to leave him to it.

"I will avenge you, love," Killian murmurs to her, emotion choking his voice, "I promise."

Moments later her body is gone, committed to the sea. Killian straightens his back, clenches his jaw. The need for revenge burns in his soul and gives him strength. He knows exactly what he’s going to use in place of his left hand and where he’s going next. Neverland. He’s going to make sure he lives long enough to follow through with his threat of killing Rumpelstiltskin.

  Neverland's weather is settled, almost too warm but with a cool breeze that offsets the heat in the sun. Killian finds himself wondering if it does ever change, as he sits on a wooden crate on the Jolly Roger's deck and sharpens his hook. It was already quite sharp to begin with, but Killian wants it to be more so. He imagines how it will now slice into the crocodile’s chest even smoother than the last time and he feels a flicker of sadistic satisfaction just at the thought of it, although whether or not this is a weapon he can actually kill the Dark One with remains to be seen.

 Killian’s crew treats him differently now and Killian hates it. They didn’t question his decision to come to Neverland, at least not to his face. But he notices their whispers, their looks of sympathy, and he hates how they always rush to help him pull a rope or lift something heavy before he can even attempt to do it himself. And he really hates how he keeps forgetting that he doesn't have a left hand anymore, although he could swear he still feels it there at the end of his arm, and he'll hold out his "hand" for a crew member to pass him something, and when nothing happens, he will turn to them in confusion and a bit of frustration, and they'll be looking back at him with pity because he's reached out with his hook instead. And he will snatch the item out of their hands with his good hand (his only hand) and shout at them to bloody do something else, anything to stop them looking at him like he's broken. Like he's weak. Like he needs any help at all.

 Several hours later Killian finds himself regretting ever increasing the sharpness of the hook, as he sits at the table in his quarters with blood streaming down his cheek. He'd distractedly gone to scratch an itch there and once again forgot for a moment that his left hand was gone. He'd only remembered when he saw shiny metal coming for his face, but it was too late to stop the motion completely, only to lighten the intended touch. Otherwise the damage would have been a lot worse. With a growl of annoyance at his own stupidity, he grabs a clean kerchief from the drawer and presses it against his face. Killian feels like a damn fool. What will his crew think? They already see him as an invalid. No, Killian thinks, they'll never know the truth of this. Because he's a good liar, he knows, falsehoods always flowing easily from his tongue. The cut doesn't bleed much, thankfully, and when Killian looks in the mirror, he can tell it doesn't need stitching. Another thing to be thankful for because while he's sewed his own wounds before, trying to thread a needle with one hand could prove difficult. And that pulls his thoughts to the times where he'd stumble back onto his ship after a long night, sometimes bleeding, sometimes bruised, usually just tired but whatever his condition Milah would be there to piece him back together. Milah. The memory of her smile and her gentle touch on his skin washes over him like a wave of warmth and peace. But in a moment, Killian's traitorous mind decides to remind him of the last time he saw his love, shattering what little comfort he previously found in his thoughts of Milah. Killian's jaw clenches hard and he turns away from the mirror, taking several large gulps of rum to chase down the lump in his throat.

 When Killian finally returns to the deck, he's radiating such a dark fury that none of the crew dare to ask what happened to his face, so Killian doesn't get to spin a story. Although, the way he's feeling now, he'd likely make them walk the plank just for asking, so it's for the best. Killian’s terrible mood isn’t helped at all by the fact his hand, his missing left hand, keeps seizing up with imaginary cramps at all hours of the night. Killian assumes this secondary torment has been deliberately inflicted on him by Rumpelstiltskin’s magic to further his suffering. As if it’s not already enough that the crocodile killed Milah and crippled Killian. Killian spends many hours lying on his bed in the dark, face pressed hard into his pillow to muffle his groans and whimpers and curses, holding his aching arm close to his chest. It's all too much and Killian feels as though he may bloody well go mad with the anger consuming his soul, a raging fire that will burn him right down until there's nothing left, if he can't get it to simmer down. He stares out to sea, breathing in the salty air deeply, trying to calm himself. The sky and sea meet unhindered at the horizon, except for the spot where the island is. There’s still not a cloud to be seen. The wind feels warm now.

 END

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Can you do another version of that blog some other anon sent of Arthur as Fenton but with smut or whatever you said?

I was hoping someone would request this! It turned out a lot dirtier than I planned (oops). 

(I picked this picture cuz I wanna attack that neck).

Warnings: smut obviously. Do I need to add this? 

Read part 1 here

Arthur wishes he could find you again. Although you interacted for a few brief moments in the Rhodes Saloon, there’d been an unquestionable spark. He silently curses Hosea, which he rarely does, for making him play the part of a mute brute. He sits on the train station steps, wondering where you are now. He’d asked around town to see if anyone knew you, but no one did. He wondered if he’d imagined you, but he couldn’t have. He wasn’t that creative nor did he think he was that desperate for affection. 

He remembers the way your hand felt when his brushed yours. Your skin was soft, smooth, warm. He remembers the way your voice sounds, the way your eyes glittered, holding a secret intelligence. He hangs his head, realizing this will be the only encounter with you he’ll ever have. 

Later that night, he’s in Rhodes again. As the sun begins to dip beneath the trees, he returns a doctor’s wagon to him. The poor man’s wagon had been stolen from some Lemoyne Raiders who were angry about a black man being wealthier and more intelligent than they were. He’d happily killed the Raiders and felt good about returning the doctor’s wagon to him. As the doctor waves to him and drives off, Arthur glances over to the saloon. His eyes must be deceiving him. You’re standing nearly on the stairs of the saloon, looking inside as though afraid more Raiders are there and prepared to shoot the place up again. He walks slowly towards you, his eyes never leaving you for fear you might disappear. 

You look over to him suddenly and your furrowed brows lift up in recognition and you smile, making his heart jump. “Fenton, right? Do you know what happened to this place? Oh, sorry, I forgot. Your brother told me you can’t speak.” As he walks closer to you, you start fumbling with your hands. Then you look up at him and smile again as he stops only feet from you. “You’re not an idiot, are you?” you say.

He can’t help but smile and hide his eyes beneath his hat. “Afraid I ain’t, ma’am. My friend and I was just in there tryin’ to get rid of some moonshine we stumbled across.” 

“I know,” you say, putting your hands on your hips. “Knew you were acting, anyways. After all, you didn’t even have your pipe lit.” 

He blinks and then chuckles. “Well, I hope you was the only one who noticed.”

You walk up to him and stare into his eyes. God, why do yours have to be so beautiful? He could stare into them and happily be lost for a hundred years. “So is Fenton your real name? Or do you just use that for the stage?” 

He smiles again. “Name’s Arthur. Arthur Morgan. And you?” 

“Y/N.” You look around suddenly as though just now becoming aware of the setting sun. “Say, Arthur, would you care to take a walk with me? Saloon’s still closed from that stunt you and your friend pulled a couple nights back. I came here to get away from my charming friend, who you met. She’s driving me crazy. Thought I’d get some drinks but, well, like I said. Saloon’s closed.” 

“Well, I got a few bottles of liquor on me,” he says. “Sure, I’ll walk with ya.” 

You impress him when you wrap your arm around his and walk off down the street. As you two meander, you compliment his exchange in hats. “That straw one would have looked silly on any person,” you say.  He blushes again. He’s never fallen for anyone so quickly, but he’s already finding himself staring at your lips. He wonders if they’re as soft and warm as the rest of your skin. 

You walk towards the trees on the other side of the tracks to get a better view of the sunset. Once in the cover of some oaks, Arthur pulls out a few bottles of alcohol and you impress him again by taking a bottle of whiskey and taking a hard chug from it. He shouldn’t be, of course, he’s been sent under the table by Karen in drinking games. Still, he wonders if there isn’t a single thing you could do that he wouldn’t find impressive. 

He has no idea that you’ve fallen for him just as quickly. From the moment you saw him, you thought he was attractive and as you told him, you knew instantly he wasn’t a mute or an idiot. You’ve known people who lacked the ability to speak and many of them held their mouths in certain ways. He lacked that movement which told you instantly he could speak. Not only that, his eyes told you he’d seen and witnessed many things. It didn’t help that he was incredibly handsome and big. Lord, there was no denying he was big. You can’t help but slide a hand up his arm and to his shoulder just to see if it feels as firm as it looks. In fact, your imagination doesn’t do him justice. He blushes when you touch his shoulder and you notice the two little scars hidden in the stubble on his chin. Your eyes travel up to his lips.

A few drinks later and you’re struggling to keep a hold of yourself. You and Arthur have talked quite a bit under the shade of the trees and the sun’s long gone by this point. You’ve told him about your life, why you’re down here with your annoying and stuck-up friend. Arthur tells you a lot about himself (though not about his gang) and divulges a bit more about the events that led to your first meeting. 

You’ve forgotten how handsy you get when even just slightly drunk. Arthur takes off his hat for a moment and before you can stop yourself, you reach over and brush your hands through his hair. He stiffens to your touch and looks over at you. His look makes you quickly withdraw your hand. Shit, you’ve really screwed up. “Sorry,” you say, blushing. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

Without warning, his lips are on yours. It’s your turn to stiffen up, but it’s a pleasant surprise. His lips are rough but warm against yours. Your arms wind up around his neck and his loop behind your back as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. Your tongue flits out to explore his lips and his meets yours. The kiss suddenly becomes more fierce and you’re breathing heavy. It’s at that moment you feel something poking into your right hip. The realization of what it is makes you pull away. 

“Sorry,” he says, unwinding his arms and taking a step back, clearly embarrassed about his reaction as he angles himself so you can’t see. “Please don’t think I wanna take advantage of ya.” 

Your blood is rushing now and there’s a pleasant heat radiating down between your legs. God, it’s been a long time since you were with another man and the last guy was definitely not as handsome or as considerate as Arthur is. Before he can start over-thinking what’s just happened, you reach over and begin unbuttoning his shirt. “Maybe I want you to,” you say, your eyes staring hard into his. 

He blushes again as you push his shirt away, exposing his chest. He’s hairy in just the right places and you run your fingers through the strands on his chest. His hands settle on your hips and he gently pushes you against the tree. You lean forward and kiss him again, trying to tell him you want to go even further. He kisses you back and then your hands glide down to grab his stiff cock through his pants. He hisses and his lips leave yours and go to your neck. He starts brushing a sweet spot on your neck, making you close your eyes and sigh pleasantly. 

Arthur’s hands leave your hips and go to the front of your jeans, unbuttoning them. He puts one hand back on your hip, planting you to the tree. His other hand goes under your fabric and into your slit, toying with you. Your hips thrust out slightly, giving him a better angle as you gasp. He’s taken you by surprise. None of the men you slept with before bothered with foreplay like this. He circles your clit slowly but firmly as his lips and tongue brush your neck. His fingers leave your clit and go to your entrance, pushing gently into it and making you groan. 

“Arthur,” you say breathily. His fingers begin to curl and push in and out of you. God, he’s already getting you close to breaking and you two have only begun. You gasp his name again, your shaking fingers going back to his pants. You unbutton his and grab his length, making him growl against your neck. His lips come back to yours as you begin to pump his cock. He’s big in your grip and certainly long. As you trace a thumb over his sensitive tip, his hand suddenly pulls out of your slit. He pulls himself out of your grip just long enough to pull down your pants and then he plants himself against you again, even closer than before. 

“God, darlin’,” he groans against your lips. “Had no idea anyone could make me feel like this.” He grabs your leg and lifts it up to wrap around his hips. You thrust your hips out. His cock finds your slit and he guides it over your clit and then to your entrance. You wince a little as he pushes himself into you, but he feels good. His length spreads your walls and then he’s buried to the hilt into you. You kiss him hard again, your legs trembling. One of his hands leaves your back and he fondles your breast through your shirt.

“God,” you say, tipping your head back, giving him the opportunity to kiss the front of your neck, which he does. “Almost… a shame…” you say as he begins thrusting up and down into you, “we can’t… be… completely naked.” You begin panting with his thrusts. He chuckles at your words. 

“Surprised you even wanna see that much of me,” he says. You look down at his chest and then further down to see him pushing himself in and out of you. 

“I wanna see it all,” you say, your hands brushing through his chest hair again. However, both of you know that neither of you can get fully exposed. Not out here. Not when you’re already risking getting caught by some stranger. 

“Trust me, I wanna see you too,” he says, squeezing your breast again through your shirt. His hand glides back down to your slit and begins brushing your clit again as his length continues pumping into you. He angles your hips closer to his and goes even deeper, rubbing your spot. You groan again as he continues touching you in all the right places. Something begins to build up quite quickly in your hips, a kind of hot bubble. 

“Oh God, I’m gonna… I’m gonna… “ you whimper. He smiles against your neck and stimulates you again and again, inflating the bubble further. Without warning, the bubble grows and then bursts, spreading a hot sensation throughout your entire body, making your hands latch onto his back and your toes curl in your shoes. 

No man has ever made you orgasm before. They’ve all been too busy chasing their own release to care about yours. You’ve had to take care of yourself each time in your past. One time, you slept with a guy and he tried making you feel bad for touching yourself right after having sex with him. This experience with Arthur tops them all. You groan his name as you begin to come down from your high. 

Arthur chuckles and then he begins pumping even harder into you. You lean over to him and kiss the pulse point on his neck. Your hands wind up into his hair and you give his locks a slight tug. His hands grip you harder and then he gives one big pump and you feel him lose himself inside of you. Once he’s done spilling his seed into your core, he gives two more small thrusts and then slowly pulls out, lowering your leg slowly. 

He looks at you and his cheeks are pink. You kiss him softly on the lips and then you help him tuck himself back into his jeans. He rebuttons your jeans for you and then he closes his shirt. You smile up at him, fanning yourself with your hand. 

“Well, darlin’, is there a place I can call on you again?” he asks. “I’d like to… well, do more with ya than just that.” He blushes. God, he’s cute. 

“You better see me again after what you just did to me,” you smile and tell him where you’re staying for now. He adjusts his hat on his head and then leans forward and kisses you again. 

“I look forward to seein’ you again, miss.” 

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Complexities Unknowable- Chapter 7 (Finale!)

Ao3,   1    2    3    4    5    6.  MasterPost

Relationships: Deintruality, background Analogince

Warnings: Cursing, Remus-typical language and jokes, Minor self-deprication/insecurity, the ol’ ‘thinks-it’s-unrequited-and-is-oblivious-to-obvious-flirting’ song and dance, all sympathetic sides, feelings of being left out, also I accidentally projected too hard and now Patton has adhd oops. 

Word Count: 4,000 (approximately)

Patton felt better than he could ever remember feeling. Sleep came easy as it hadn’t for him in years. It was amazing how far a little bit of understanding went.

When all your closest friends are together, you get lonely. Patton wouldn’t say that he was jealous, but everything was different now. When he used to spend time with the others, it was four pals spending quality time together! Now when they did, it was a date, except oops! Patton’s here too! How awkward!

He knew that was unfair. They didn’t really think of him that way, of course not. Hence why he didn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like that with Remus and Deceit. Even though they were dating, Patton never felt left behind. Their humor was dark and snarky but accessible, not laden with inside jokes that he’d missed out on or specific clues that he didn’t pick up. 

The inclusiveness they treated him with was probably borne from being excluded for so long, though he didn’t like to think about that. The fact was, the three were friends now, the past was past, and Patton was drinking in their companionship like fine wine (or, to be more accurate to himself, a grape juice box).

It did not take him long to figure out why he was so fond of their company. You can only spend so much time with Deceit prattling about the dangers of repression before you start to unearth all of those deeply buried feelings.

He’d fallen for the Dark Sides. Whoops. 

Could you really blame him? Deceit, suave and clever and funny, yet so gentle when he wanted to be; Remus, bold and brash and energetic, but still with such a deep empathy hidden in him! It was no wonder that the two were already together- anyone who spent as much time with them as they spent with each other would be head-over-heels as well! (Patton was speaking from experience on that one). 

Initial surprise regarding the feelings had soon faded to something almost comfortable. He was happy to have them as his friends alone, so what was a little crush? No big deal!

...Was what he had thought ten minutes ago, when there wasn’t an affectionate Remus wrapped around him, chattering off various compliments.

“I could hold you forever, Patty. You are just the softest, like a water balloon full of blood and organs! But still so ripped, I mean, damn!”

“Language,” Patton chided meekly, trying very hard to not dissolve into the ether.

“Awww, you can’t make an exception for me? Just this once? I’ll make it worth your while~,” the last part was a hushed sing-song right near Morality’s ear. He felt his face redden, but forced himself away to refocus on… whatever he had been doing.

“Nope, no exceptions,” he chirped, going back to- right! Cleaning!

“You aren’t tempted at all? You are so responsible- and that’s really one of the sexiest qualities there is.”

It was just Remus’ nature to talk to people like that, Patton told himself firmly. The Creative side was just expressing his friendly affection in a way that made sense to him. It came alongside being close to someone so unused to ‘typical’ friendship dynamics, after all. Patton reminded himself of this again and again, denying himself the desperate urge that welled up and told him to respond in kind. He would not purposefully misinterpret Remus’ actions for his own gain, he was better than that!

“Thank you, Rem,” just nice, platonic gratitude for nice, platonic compliments. 

Eventually, finally, mercifully, The Duke had seemed to get bored. He disentangled himself from Patton (appearing rather crestfallen, though the moral trait wasn’t sure why), and wandered off. 

But that, whether for good or for bad, was hardly the end of that.

Deceit’s room was magnificently cozy. It was armchairs that swallowed up whomever sat in them, warm lamps casting down on all surfaces, and jazzy music playing distantly in the background. In other words, the perfect place for a good cup of tea and some sandwiches, not to mention pleasant conversation.

Deceit lounged back in his oversized chair, sending Patton an inscrutable look across their teacups. The side smiled, hoping that was the appropriate response.

“So,” he drawled, switching the track of their conversation abruptly, “You’re something of a seamster, aren’t you?”

Patton stared blankly for a moment before the term clicked.

“Oh, you mean a seamstress?”

“Sorry, I thought you’d prefer the masculine, but that really was presumptuous of me,” Deceit amended in apology. 

“I didn’t know that there was a word for it other than seamstress. Hey, isn’t it kinda weird how some jobs are like that, when you think about it? Like how there’s actors and actresses! Why wouldn’t ‘actor’ be all encompassing, ya know?”

Deceit made a vague noise of disinterest and waved his hand, as though manually cutting off the tangent in conversation.

“Yes, gender is a distasteful societal construct and an overall prison to our consciences, we both agree- but regardless, you sew. Make clothing and things like our quilt. Isn’t that right?”

“Right- yes.”

“Do you make all of your own clothes, then?”

“Hmm, sometimes I do- I mostly make stuff for the others. It’s easier to conjure simple stuff for myself, but making them is a lot of fun!” Morality gestured enthusiastically to the pastel pink sweater that he wore, fluffy and intricately patterned. 

Deceit’s eyes glinted in a strange, intimidating, and also incredibly hot way. Patton almost forced the attraction out of his mind, before realizing that that kind of repression would definitely be noticed in this part of the Mindscape. 

“I would have to say you have quite the talent, in that case,” the dishonest trait set down his cup and craned his body over the small table between them, heterochromatic gaze alight with… something. Patton cleared his throat. 

“W-Why’s that?” 

“You look positively hideous in that, my Dear,” he purred in obvious lies, gloved hands now sitting in the middle of the table and creeping forward by the inch.

“Aw, thanks,” Patton croaked, fighting the urge to lean forward in turn. 

Something strangely disappointed flashed in Deceit’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. He reached out to run a hand along Patton’s sleeve, the touch lingering against his arm.

“My my, that’s just like a cloud. How did you manage that, Darling?”

Morality shivered as Deceit continued to toy with the fabric of his sweater. 

“I-It’s probably because it’s made with love! Since that’s what I am, kinda,” he stammered, desperately trying to keep up the cheery tone.

“I’m inclined to agree. There’s beauty in all you touch, Sunshine.”

Oh, the pet names. Patton really couldn’t take it; he jerked away and pressed his back against the chair, before he had the chance to do something stupid. Honestly, it was sad how hard this was for him- Deceit was just trying to be a good friend! It wasn’t his fault that he showed it with flirts!

“You’re too sweet,” with distance reestablished, Morality found it much easier to formulate words, “I really appreciate you, Dee.”

Deceit blinked, still hovering over the table. He cleared his throat and snapped back into his seat, suddenly looking the part of the cold and distant Dark Side that Patton had feared just months prior. Guarded, callous, stoic. It was almost frightening, how quickly he changed. 

“Yes, I know you do. Let’s change topics, shall we?”

Patton, feeling quite a bit of whiplash, nodded hesitantly. Their conversation continued to flow normally, for the most part, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d messed up somewhere. There was something heavy over them, but Patton hadn’t the slightest idea what it was. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, he wondered if they were moving backwards. If he’d somehow crossed a line when he was trying so hard not to, and now they were two steps back again. Just the thought of it made him too sick to finish his tea.

Patton didn’t have to be worried for long about that particular mishap, thankfully, as a very momentous occasion had swallowed up the fear. Remus and Deceit were going to be joining in their first ever movie night as part of the family! 

There’d been plenty of TV marathons with just them and Pat already, but now they’d all come together! As part of the group!! Contributing to the voting and the arguing and the joking and the experience of it all!!! Needless to say, Patton was practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement. 

He plopped down onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, passing a much larger container of snacks to the amorphous blob of limbs and sass that had once been his three best friends, cuddled together far across from him. Now, all they needed were the Dark- sorry, former Dark Sides.

He wasn’t waiting for long before Deceit and Remus appeared in the living room (Remus, thank the lord, wearing actual pajamas). Patton couldn’t contain the happy little chirp that escaped him, scrunching himself to one side of the sectional so that they’d have plenty of room to make themselves at home.

Rather than huddling together in the crook of the curved sofa, however, Deceit immediately gestured for Patton to scooch over, and Remus sat on his other side. Morality was happy (if a bit surprised) to comply with this new seating arrangement, flashing them bright smiles. In light of recent events, being so close with both of them was a little dizzying, but it wasn’t too hard to bear. For now.

The conversation on which movie to watch that night was more agreeable than usual, which was nice; they got right to the marathon with little hassle. Patton sighed as the opening credits to Tangled played. At that moment, his life couldn’t get any more wonderful. Surrounded by the people he cared about, finally all together, it was perfect. 

And then, a mere ten minutes in, Remus leaned his chin on Patton’s shoulder and pressed into his side. 

“Mother Gothel is such a Milf.”

Patton would usually have been put off by the sexual comment, but at that moment Deceit had also seemed to decide that he’d make a good headrest. Which was fine, this was fine. Some mild friendly cuddling- nothing he couldn't handle!

Another twenty minutes later and Remus twisted an arm around his waist. Deceit held Patton’s hand between a couple of his own. By this point, they were beginning to look a lot like the cuddle pile wrapped up together on the other side of the couch. He was still alive, though!

Neither of the sides beside him moved an inch until the film ended, only begrudgingly letting go when Morality had to get up for a snack refill. Even then, they latched back onto him as soon as he returned. Thus began the second movie, and the beginning of Patton's slow and snuggly death.

Every few minutes, it would be something else: Deceit ran a hand or two through his hair, Remus hooked his leg around Patton’s, Deceit nuzzled against his neck, Remus laughed into his shoulder, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Three movies in and he was barely keeping up with the conversation. His head was spinning and he was sure he’d never been so warm, but more than that he felt protected. Even adored. He wasn't often on the receiving end of affection, and the longing brought with it ached, but he never wanted it to end.

Then Virgil yawned (oh yeah, the other three were still there), exiting from the ending credits of All Dogs Go To Heaven and clicking back to the main screen.

“Bed time,” he grumbled, a tone so intimate and low and clearly meant for his boyfriends that Patton almost felt bad for overhearing it. 

“It is getting quite late,” Logan agreed, standing to stretch. Roman followed suit and dragged a  sleepy Anxiety up with him.

Virgil tossed the remote in Patton's general direction and let Roman haul him up in his arms (Deceit caught it with an unoccupied arm, given that the moral side’s brain was currently jelly). The three bid their goodnights and were gone with a few shimmers of color and a whoosh.

“I guess we should head up, too,” Patton murmured, working very hard to disguise his reluctance. To his surprise, the traits sandwiching him only sank further into his sides.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, it’s so very late,” Deceit rumbled, his face partially hidden in the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I can’t move,” Remus added, his voice ticking up in a noticeably mischievous way. 

“I can’t either. We should stay, just like this.”

Patton's heart warmed, looking between their adorably sleepy faces. He couldn’t lie, the offer was tempting, but in such a situation his brain came back to him. Despite the continued proximity of his crushes, this was something he could handle! 

“Aww, don’t you worry about it, I’ve got ya,” and, making very sure that his grip was secure, Patton stood up with Deceit and Remus cradled in either arm. He hardly staggered under the weight of the sides, familiar with such heavy lifting. 

Remus and Deceit went from sleepiness to pure shock in a matter of milliseconds. Deceit instinctively clung to Patton with all of his limbs, meanwhile Remus gave a startled laugh. Their faces were a matching pink; oh, he could have made them uncomfortable!

“Is this okay? I promise I won't drop you.”

Remus nodded frantically; Deceit squawked in an affirming sort of way. 

Relief washed over Patton and, satisfied with the response, he sank out in a circle of cyan. For a moment, he feared that the nausea that The Subconscious usually brought him would unsteady him, but he was left pleasantly surprised when he felt none. In fact, it felt just like rising up anywhere else. Just as easy as breathing. Hm.

He didn’t dwell on it too long, ascending The Subconscious’ staircase and bringing his cargo to the first bedroom he saw (Deceit’s). He nudged the door open with his shoe, carrying them right to the bed and dropping them down gently. Remus fell onto his back with a happy hum; Deceit stayed upright and stared at Patton with wide eyes. He huffed a laugh and nudged The Snake's shoulders, and Deceit let himself fall beside his boyfriend, dazed. 

This was routine for Patton: grabbing the covers and blanketing his friends, as he’d done for probably every other side at one point or another (even Logan, though he would deny it furiously). Once Remus and Deceit were sufficiently tucked in, he stood up and dimmed the lights to near darkness. 

“Alright, you two have a good night's sleep.”

There was a noise of approval from the pair. Patton gave them one last smile before disappearing back to his own room. To scream into his pillow and think about how gay he was.

Which meant that he didn't get the opportunity to hear the interaction that followed between Dee and Ree.

“Well, that didn’t backfire at all.”

“I want him to snap my spine in half like a glow stick. He could break every bone in my body and I would thank him,” Remus replied dreamily. Deceit hummed in agreement. 

“Perhaps we should try a more… direct approach, as this doesn’t seem to be working in our favor.”

“I dunno about you, but I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ favored right now.”

“I was suggesting that we be more-” he very nearly gagged, “Straightforward.”

“More like gay-forward, actually,” Remus corrected, “But I’m with you! You know I love being direct.”

“Now when I say direct, I don’t mean blunt.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“I know you don’t. Let me do the talking.”

“Fine by me! Whatever works to get him to pick me up and throw me!”

Deceit rolled his eyes, settling his arms around Remus. 

“Yes, yes- but I’m actually wide awake right now, and I’d love it if you keep being loud all night, Dearest.” 

“Oh, right,” Remus lowered his voice, curling himself around the lying side in turn. Together, their breathing slowed. As they drifted to sleep, the feeling of Patton's arms around them still ghosted their skin.

Patton was cleaning furiously. He’d already reorganized the entirety of his room- twice, for that matter- and now he’d moved to the Common area. It hadn’t been so much as a week since his last tidying session, and the Mindpalace was pretty much spotless, but that was irrelevant. It was as good a distraction as any.

Maybe he was avoiding the trifecta of trifling traits- aka his best friends- because he knew that they’d ask about why he was being so weird lately. Maybe he was avoiding Deceit and Remus, the reason that he’d been weird lately. Maybe he was just avoiding his thoughts about them, because seeing them all cozied up and sleepy and adorable a couple nights ago really hadn’t helped settle his growing infatuation with them. Most likely, he was avoiding all three. 

But he had failed to take into account that The Common Area was not the best place for avoiding stuff. Given that it was. A Public Space. 

“Patton,” began the voice of Deceit behind him, in a tone deadly serious.

He spun around to see a very embarrassed Dee and an immensely giddy Remus. Well, Shhhhh-ucks. Shucks. 

“Hey!” Patton tossed the sponge in his hand back into the sink and pretended that he wasn’t freaking out at that exact moment. 

Deceit hardly registered the greeting, continuing: 

“We need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

The Snake opened his mouth, and promptly closed it. His eyes had widened concerningly, and he cast his gaze downwards.

“We-” he cut off again. Patton’s worry was mounting. 

“DeeDee?” Remus prompted, elbowing his partner’s side, “I thought you were doing the talking?”

“I-I can do this, I’m not tapping out,” his voice was frenzied, hiding himself behind The Duke in a rare display of fear. 

“Guys? Is something wrong?” Patton approached them, all of his nervousness about his feelings forgotten in the face of this distress, “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Remus gave him a warm smile, not hesitating for a breath. 

“We came to tell you you’re hot and we wanna date you! But, you know how bad Dee is with words! Anyway, whaddya say?”

Deceit, for his part, nodded in deep resignation. And Patton’s head reeled.

He could hear, audibly hear his heart thumping against his ribs. It was probably as simple as a confession could get, but regardless he found himself frantically replaying the words over and over and over again. He’d never imagined- not even for a second- even the thought of it- 

Mentally, he took a step back. Roman, Logan, and Virgil were an item. Remus and Deceit were an item. And Patton was a third party, paternal and caring and watching out for all of them and their misadventures, though he knew he’d never be entirely part of it. But maybe, now he could be. After everything, they wanted not to just be with him, but to be with him.

It didn’t process.

“I- You- What- Me?”

Because there is good in this world, Remus (correctly) interpreted his flustered stammering as surprise and not distaste. The smile that he almost always wore widened and he took a step forward, dragging the mildly less panicked Deceit along with him.

“You,” he confirmed, shimmying excitedly in place, “Definitely you. And us.”

“I second that not-at-all vague sentiment. We’ve grown unfortunately fond of you,” Deceit uncoiled himself from Remus enough to be seen clearly.

Patton saw it. He saw, in full light and understanding, the subtext in their previous interactions. And now that he did, he had no idea how he’d missed it. A testament to the power of his insecurity, probably. But that didn’t matter, because they liked him back.

Patton failed to words. But, they were very near, and he was very happy, and in the light of new context, he figured that they wouldn’t mind the response he opted for instead. 

He hopped forward with a delighted squeal, scooping the traits up in his arms. Remus started cackling and immediately returned the hug with just as much fervor. Deceit wasn’t far behind for once, allowing his face to split with a smile equal parts shock, relief, and glee. 

“Oh, I love you two so much!” Patton laughed out, burying his face in Remus’ hair. 

“I love you back!” Remus said in kind. 

Deceit attempted a dramatic groan, but he failed to tamp down his grin. 

“It could be said that I feel something love-adjacent for the both of you. Perhaps.” 

Patton’s mind was swimming in joy, so much so that it barely registered when Remus tilted his head back only to lean forward, and oh wow, were they kissing. Patton’s vision was all bright blurs of color, and he melted. The creative trait pushed up against him, rough in much the same way as an overly excited large dog. Patton hardly had time to reciprocate the kiss before Remus broke off completely from the hug, unflustered and unaffected by what he’d done, save for a light blush.

“Now you guys!”

Oh, he was still hugging Deceit. 

“Only if it’s okay?” he’d barely gotten the apprehensive words out of his mouth when it was suddenly occupied, and the world went back to hazey vibrance. Deceit was almost skittish, a barely-there press against his lips like he expected Patton to shove him away. He didn’t, by the way. Rather, he slid a hand up to rest between the side’s shoulder blades, bringing him nearer. 

After a moment, they pulled back slowly, not letting go of each other. 

“That was hot, ngl,” Remus chimed from his perch on the counter.

Patton was overcome with a fit of giggling, energy building in him. He ended his and Deceit’s very drawn-out embrace to satisfy the necessity of full body wiggle. He was in Silly Mode, there was no avoiding this until it had been exorcised via The Joyful Movement™. Patton flapped his hands at his sides and shook his hair out, laughing all the while. Today could not possibly get better!

But he remembered his audience of two. He looked up, hair fluffed up and face flushed with fading excitement and a tinge of self-consciousness. 

“Sorry, I got over-excited...”

“That,” Deceit announced solemnly, “Was astoundingly adorable.”

“I’ve died a gruesome death,” Remus rolled off the counter and onto the ground with a crash (and some bone crunches thrown in, probably for fun), “My heart overloaded, it has burst. There’s blood everywhere, it’s in my eyes, I’m now also blind.” 

Patton’s relief escaped in another bout of laughter, and something lifted in him. A weight that had been there for so long that he hadn’t even remembered it was there, nor how it felt to be without it. But now that it had left, he didn’t know how he had been living with it for so long. There was airiness in his chest, a clarity in his mind, a general sense of contentment rushing over him. This wasn’t a face he put on for others benefit, it wasn’t a fleeting enjoyment of one thing or another- what it was was a deep, thrumming joy that overcame him. 

He was happy. 

Naturally, Patton could not finish cleaning due to. Circumstances. Those circumstances being, he was finally letting himself indulge in some quality time with his new boyfriends (an identifier he very much liked the sound of). 

The trio were half-laying on the Common room’s couch, a tangle of various limbs. Remus leaned against a pile of pillows, and Patton rested his head on his chest. Draped across the both of them was Deceit, fastening all of his arms around them in a manner simultaneously protective and needy. Oh, and also very, very cute. 

“This was totally what I was planning from the beginning,” his voice reverberated through Patton’s chest, “God, I am so great at plotting.”

Remus clicked his tongue agreeably, pressing a kiss to the top of Morality’s head.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we were gonna end up killing you, Pumpkin. This wasn’t even in the ballpark of outcomes.” 

Patton hummed in thought, cuddling himself closer to his partners.

“I dunno. I’d say your plan turned out pretty well.”

@deceits-left-glove​ 

@princemesscharming

@shrimp-crockpot

[bloodpacks-archive]

Until We Meet Again

word count: 4.7k oops

summary: Cassian Andor fell in love once. He never said goodbye.

warnings: uhhh this is rogue one so uh. fluffy and then. and then. well. u know.

note: hi i made myself cry with this fic so i hope you enjoy it bc it is Sad but also lovely at some points and I- yeah. also this is my first time writing cassian so please don’t murder me if he seems off. i also don’t even know if people really write Cassian x reader shit but i don’t really care because I wrote this today and now it’s here

Cassian didn’t like goodbyes. Maybe he was superstitious, or just freaked out, but he never thought goodbyes were a good thing in the rebellion. Goodbyes meant an end, and he wanted a promise of a next time, so he never said goodbye.

When he met her, he was on a mission on Coruscant. He was supposed to meet another Rebel spy here, and in order to keep communications and suspicions down to a minimum, he wasn’t given her name.

He didn’t really understand the order, but Draven had made it clear. He would know when he saw her.

Cassian had never been the biggest fan of Coruscant. It was a bit too crowded for him. He liked the peaceful nature of Yavin 4, it was a nice break from the chaos that came with being a spy.

The one advantage to Coruscant was just how easy it was to blend in. He was given a location, he assumed it was a cantina, just based on Draven’s affinity to them as meeting spaces, and started looking.

The cantina was surprisingly calm. His eyes scanned the room. There were a few Twi’leks standing off in a corner, quietly talking to themselves. They weren’t glancing around the room and they didn’t seem skittish, so Cassian quickly dismissed them. He continued to scan, and then his eyes met hers, for just a moment. She was sipping on a drink, looking at him from over the rim of the glass. Something flashed in her eyes, familiarity, curiosity, he couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it made him feel like she was the one he was supposed to meet.

When he walked over to the table, he said a quick verification code, and when she replied with the correct response, Cassian had to hold back a smile. He slid into the booth across from her, leaning forward onto the table as he spoke.

“So what are we doing here?” He asked. The girl raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did they not tell you?”

“I only know this location. They told me the rest was up to you. I don’t even know your name.”

She leaned back in the booth, letting her head fall to the side as she scanned Cassian up and down. He noticed how one of her hands lingered by her side, just above the hem of her jacket, and he raised his eyebrows at her, and then leaned in, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

“If you pull out your blaster, that’s gonna be a lot more paperwork than either of us want. Trust me, I know this looks suspicious that I don’t know anything, but the General told me it was to keep suspicions low. I was given the location and I knew the verification code. I can’t offer you anything else.”

It was then that her hand finally moved away from where he assumed her blaster was sitting. And now she was smiling, just faintly there, while she moved in closer to Cassian. He watched as she leaned forward on the table, leaving them maybe just a few inches more than a foot apart.

“Alright,” She whispered, “I’ll give you the rundown.”

—————

Their mission was to find a rebel who had been captured by the Empire. They were keeping him on Coruscant until he could be transported, which would be happening tomorrow. She had the location, she had an idea of who the rebel was, and she had a plan. The test was just getting in and out with minimal damage.

They went in at night, when the underground prison-camp would be at its emptiest. They were quiet, shuffling around and hiding behind walls whenever they thought they heard the familiar sounds of stormtrooper armor.

They turned a corner, and there he was. The rebel was sitting in the corner of his cell, hands tied behind him and head hanging at an awkward angle. Cassian kneeled down, going to pick the lock while the girl—whose name he still didn’t know—stood watch.

Finally, the lock clicked open, and Cassian quickly went into the room, kneeling down in front of the rebel prisoner.

“Hey, hey, we’re here to help you,” He whispered. The prisoner’s eyes slowly opened, he blinked a few times, and then his eyes looked over Cassian, before widening in realization.

“Captain Andor?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and weak. It was then that Cassian finally took a look at the prisoner, finally got a chance to see him from under the dirt and dried blood.

“Barid?”

“Now’s not really the time for a reunion, we have to go,” The girl whispered from just outside the cell. Cassian heard stormtroopers coming down the hallway, and quickly untied Barid and got him to his feet.

Barid hung onto Cassian, limping as he walked, and they both made their way down the hallway, following the fellow rebel spy through the corridors.

Suddenly, she turned, hiding behind a notch in the wall and pulled her blaster up. Cassian followed in suit, pulling Barid with him.

“Who’s there?” They heard, and then a stormtrooper turned the corner. Cassian held his breath, just listening as the stormtrooper came closer and closer.

And then he heard blaster fire. He turned out of hiding, his own blaster at the ready, and was met with the stormtrooper laying on the ground, the girl standing over him.

“We should go,” She said quickly, and they ran. Cassian held Barid close to him, hoping that by pure adrenaline Barid would be able to run just a bit faster than he was. Cassian saw a stormtrooper out of the corner of his eye and quickly turned to fire a few shots at him, and then they were out. Coming out of the underground bunker and into the brightness of the Coruscant lights.

“You got a ship?” The girl asked as they made their way through the streets of Coruscant, trying to blend in once again.

“What happened to yours?”

“There was,” She paused, “An issue?”

“That sounds like a lot of fun paperwork,” Barid chimed in. He was starting to walk a bit more normally, and was able to keep up with the other two, but he still had a bit of a limp. It was starting to make Cassian worry.

“The point is,” The girl said, giving a bit of a dirty look to Barid while he laughed, “mind if I get a ride?”

Cassian hummed, like he was thinking for just a moment, before answering.

“On one condition,” He said.

She groaned, rolling her eyes at him.

“You have to tell me your name.”

So when they got to the ship, he helped Barid on, guiding him to a chair so he could finally sit, and then he turned to the still-mystery-girl.

“So?” He asked. And she just sighed, taking a seat in the co-pilot’s chair while Cassian started the ship up.

And then she said her name. A bright, beautiful name, that seemed to fit her perfectly. And Cassian just repeated it, nodding his head a bit before he finally took off, sending them into Hyperspace.

—————

They were back on base around half a day later, and when they arrived, Barid was met with hugs from friends before being lead down to the med-bay.

She stood next to Cassian, arms crossed, watching the people run around the hangar with a bit of joy in her eyes.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been back,” She said. Cassian watched her gaze, but it seemed to flit around everywhere, like she was taking it all in at once.

“Well, welcome back.” Cassian started to move off the ship, but then he turned around, taking one last glance at her. “I’ll see you around.”

—————

The next time he saw her, it was at the mission debriefing. Draven had given them an hour to settle back in, especially since she hadn’t been on base for so long, before getting them back to business.

She handed Draven the data pad she had been filling out the whole way back, and Cassian noticed how she cringed a bit when she informed the General about her ship. Draven just waved it off, reading through the report and deciding that, based on the circumstances reported, it was unavoidable.

When they left the General’s office, she stood against the wall, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

“You okay?” Cassian asked, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, I’m fine just-“ She paused, taking a breath, before opening her eyes and looking at him, “It’s been a while, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Cassian paused for a moment, silence settling between them as she closed her eyes again. “Do you wanna grab something to eat?”

She looked up at him, eyes just a bit brighter then before, and smiled.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

And over the next few days, that became a tradition. They would see each other in the halls, and Cassian would ask if she had eaten yet, and she would almost always say no, so they went and they had lunch together.

Eventually, they started spending more of the day together as well. It had started with him walking her back to his quarters, and then she decided to come back to his quarters to work on some reports, until it eventually came to her knocking on Cassian’s door randomly throughout the day, just to sit by him while they both read.

So during those moments, where they’re between missions, they take every second they can get.

It’s during one of those days, when she’s filling out a report on her data pad from a mission she just went on, and Cassian’s looking over the intel he’s been given from informants, when Kay walks into the room.

“General Draven has requested both of you to his office.” Kay walks into the room, and then glances over what Cassian is looking at. “Based on that intel, I’d say there’s a 72% chance it has to do with that.”

Cassian closes out the data pad. “Thanks Kay,” He says, and then he looks over at where she’s sitting, still focused on her report as she starts to stand. “C’mon, we should go.”

And so she nods, finally setting her data pad down to go follow Cassian and Kay towards the General’s office.

When they arrive, the General is looking over his own data pad, his brows are furrowed together, and he’s rubbing a spot on his wrist. That’s a mannerism Cassian’s learned to be wary of.

“I’m guessing you saw the Intel from Kashyyyk?” Cassian says, finally speaking up. Draven nods, finally glancing up towards the two of them.

“I need the two of you to go to Kashyyyk, bring K-2SO, he might help you blend in.”

“Kashyyyk? It’s hell over there. Why would we go there?” Both Cassian and the General turned to Y/n. Her eyes were flitting between them, she was analyzing the interaction, trying to find some reason.

“We have reason to believe Saw Gerrera was there recently. Any intel you can bring back will be useful.” The General pauses, watching over the two of them for a moment. “Lieutenant,” He says, turning to her. It takes Cassian by surprise, he hasn’t heard anyone call her Lieutenant since they’ve come back from Coruscant. Based on the way she shifts, a bit uncomfortably, she isn’t a fan of the formality.

“Yes, General?”

“I’ll need you to gather as much intel as you can from your informants down there. We haven’t heard much from them in a while, so we don’t know much about the state of Kashyyyk.”

“I’ll get right on that,” She replies. She’s already pulling out her data pad, scrolling through her files when Draven turns to Cassian.

“Captain, I’ll need you to go down first. Communications will be at a minimum. We’ll send you in an Imperial ship with an Imperial uniform, and Kay will be with you. After a week, we’ll send the Lieutenant. You are just trying to find Gerrera. If a week after Y/n arrives you still haven’t found him or any intel on his whereabouts, you leave. We cannot risk you two being down there for any longer.”

“Understood, General.”

“You leave tonight.”

With that, they left the General’s office and went to their separate quarters to start preparing, which in Cassian’s case, meant packing. Kay was talking his ear off, saying something about how he’d never been on Kashyyyk, and how Wookies had a “54% chance of tearing your arms off at any moment” which, Cassian was sure must have been a glitch in Kay’s programming.

Cassian liked Wookies. But with the enslavement, he thought maybe the statistic was right. If his entire world was enslaved to the Empire, he thinks he’d have around the same statistic too.

He was just about to finish packing when he heard a soft knock at his door.

“Come in!” He’d yelled, and he heard the sliding of the door opening. When he turned back, she was standing there, looking a bit worried.

“You nervous?” She moved to where Cassian was kneeling in front of his bag, and sat down next to him. Her head leaned onto his shoulder, just staring down at the bag in front of them.

It was interesting. She was hell on the battlefield. Unconcerned and unapologetic. But here, in Cassian’s quarters, she seemed almost scared.

“No,” Cassian replied. He laid his head on top of hers, and the two of them sat there for just a moment, the silence between them. “Are you?”

He felt her sigh, “A bit? Kashyyyk, it’s- it’s hell over there right now. I was contacting a few of my informants and-“ She paused, “I can’t even imagine.”

Cassian nudged her a bit, making a small smile appear on her face.

“Hey,” He said, “That’s the great thing about the Rebellion. Everything we do is bringing people like them one step closer to freedom.”

“You’re right.” She moved away, sitting up and straightening herself out a bit.

“Cassian,” Kay said from behind them. He had gone on a quick run to fix up one of his drives. “I hate to break up the moment, but I’m afraid we have to leave.”

So Cassian rose, sighing a bit as he stood, and offered her a hand to stand up with him.

“See you in a week?” Cassian said, just the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“See you in a week.” She replied.

—————

He missed her. It was really odd, because they’d been apart before and it hadn’t been a big deal, but he missed her. Even with Kay by his side, he felt alone on Kashyyyk. Hiding out as an Imperial Officer was awful. He tried getting intel on where Saw Gererra would be, but nothing came up.

No one knew where he was.

He figured he was forgetting something, so he just waited for her to arrive. She’d have a better idea of how to look, he was sure of it.

And that week, it gave him a lot of time to think. Cassian sat in his Imperial quarters, laying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling while Kay sat on the floor and leaned against the wall.

“What do you think?” He asked. And Kay just looked up from what he was doing, tilting his head at Cassian.

“About what?”

“You know,” Cassian paused.

“I do not know.”

“Y/n. What do you think about her?” Cassian asked finally.

“I like her. She listens to me and she think I’m funny. Unlike someone.”

“The listening part or the funny part?”

“Both.”

Cassian laughed, sitting up in his bed and leaning his head forward in his hands.

“Why do you ask?” Kay said.

“I don’t know Kay, I just-“

“Do you like her?”

“Kay-“

“You know if you two end up together she could convince you that not only am I always right but I’m also funny.”

“You’re annoying,” Cassian replied, finally looking up at Kay.

“And funny.”

—————

It was a few days later when she arrived on Kashyyyk. She came into his quarters, and suddenly it felt like everything turned upside-down.

Is it weird how much he wanted to pull her into his arms?

But he brushed it off, and they went on through the week, trying to find more clues to where Gererra would be.

The week was cut short.

Around four days after she arrived, someone was alerted of their presence. Thankfully, Cassian had managed to intercept communications between stormtroopers and became aware of the situation before it was too late.

They were in their quarters when they realized, and it wasn’t long before all three of them were running out of the base.

They turned a corner, and there stood a group of stormtroopers, most likely heading towards their quarters.

“There! Intruders!” One of them shouted, and the three of them hid behind different notches in the corridors, hoping they would be enough cover.

Blaster fire flew by Cassian’s head, he heard orders being shouted out, and Kay was peaking out from behind cover to blast the troopers ahead of them.

Cassian managed to grab a hold of his blaster without getting shot, and started doing the same.

“Hey, maybe this is a bad time,” Cassian started, a bit out of breath from the running and the hiding, “but I kind of need to tell you something.” He heard Kay from behind him.

“Cassian, I don’t think this is a good time. There’s an 80% chance of-“

“I don’t wanna know, Kay!” Cassian shouted back at the droid. He heard Kay groan, but Cassian just ignored it.

“Is this the best time?” She asked from beside him. He watched as she peaked out and shot a stormtrooper, knocking him to the ground.

“Can you think of a better one?” He replied. She glanced at him and then at the thinning crowd of troopers. There were still too many.

“Alright, shoot,” She said.

“Kind of already doing that.” Cassian winked at her and then leaned out to shoot down another trooper. Eight left.

She cast a glare his way.

“You know what I meant!”

Cassian peaked out again, shooting once before just dodging blasting fire. Six.

“Okay well, I really missed you during that week, and it made me start thinking-“ Pause. Fire. Five. “That I don’t want to just be friends.” Fire. Four.

“What?”

Three more shots. One.

“He’s saying he likes you,” Kay finally said, coming out of his spot to fire at the last trooper.

“Yeah,” Cassian said, trying to catch his breath, “what he said.”

Her eyes flitted over his face, for just a moment, trying to take in every detail. But soon enough, Kay was running past them.

“We should go,” Cassian said, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her along and to their ship.

—————

The ride back to Yavin 4 is peaceful. Thankfully, they’d managed to gun down anyone who tried to follow them, and Kay made sure there were no trackers on the ship.

The ship is surprisingly quiet. Kay had retreated to the back, deciding to run some diagnostics, and while Cassian was sitting in the pilot’s chair, making sure everything was going smoothly, she was sitting next to him in the co-pilot’s filling out her usual reports.

Nothing seemed awkward, but she still wasn’t talking to him, and that made him irrationally nervous. Even if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he liked having her as a friend. He didn’t want that to change.

“Cassian?” She said, her voice quiet, but enough to break the silence. He looked over at her, and she had her head tilted to the side, just enough so it was resting against the back of her chair as she turned to look at him.

Cassian hummed in response.

“Did you really mean what you said back there?”

She seemed timid, and once again, he found himself shocked at the difference between on and off the battlefield. Her confidence almost faded away.

“Yeah, of course I did,” He replied. He noticed the way her lips began to quirk up into a smile.

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

She let out a sigh, closing her eyes a bit as she leaned back against her chair. And then she smiled. That perfect, bright smile.

“And here I was thinking I was going to have to tell you first,” She said finally, and Cassian laughed, leaning over to push her playfully.

And then their laughter filled the cabin, and all was well. She rose from her seat, putting the data pad to the side as she came to stand next to him. She leaned onto the back of his chair, and he grabbed her hand, lightly pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

She leaned down to kiss his temple, and all seemed well.

—————

They’d been together for ten months, and they’d been through a lot. Cassian getting injured probably too many times to count, her yelling at him, her disappearing for a few weeks for a mission. It was endless.

They spent a lot of time apart. So when they had time together, they made the most of it.

She had moved her stuff to his quarters a while ago, and now she spent every night she was at the base in his quarters.

This night was one of the lucky nights when they were both there. It wasn’t quite late enough that they should’ve been sleeping, but enough so that most of the other people on base were already in their quarters and getting ready for bed.

It was quiet, just the sound of their voices and the usual hum of the base their only noise.

Cassian had his arms wrapped around her, humming quietly in her ear as they both laid in the dark.

“Cassian?” She whispered. Her voice was soft, just barely there, but it was all he needed. “When this is all done, where do you want to go?”

He pressed his lips to her temple.

“Wherever you want to go, my love,” He whispered. Her laughter filled the room as she turned in his arms, finally face-to-face with him.

“Really, Cassian, where should we go when this is over?”

And he thought for a while, because he wasn’t really sure where. The Rebellion had been his home for so long. He couldn’t imagine calling another place home.

“I like Alderaan,” He answered, finally.

“Alderaan it is then,” She whispered, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

And that was all he could have asked for. He had hope. Hope for something when all this was done. He had her, and she made him ridiculously happy, in ways that he couldn’t even explain, and that was all he had ever wanted. All he had ever asked for. And she was here. Right in front of him. He would never have to say goodbye to that, she would always be by his side.

“We could get married,” She whispered again, her eyes fluttering shut.

“That sounds like a dream, my love,” He whispered back. She opened her eyes, narrowing them at him.

“What’s with all the ‘my love’ stuff?” She asked. Cassian simply laughed, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“It’s just what you are.”

And he isn’t sure what makes him do it, what makes him reach over to his bedside table, and grab the chain out of the drawer, but he does. It’s just a simple chain, and on it is a ring. One that he’d bought when he was younger, hoping that maybe he could put it to use. He had mostly forgotten about it until now, but he can’t imagine a more perfect moment.

“As a reminder,” He starts, placing the chain in her hands, “of our life after.”

—————

Cassian doesn’t like goodbyes. He never says them, because he never thinks saying goodbye will turn out well. Saying goodbye is admitting the end, and he’s never been ready for that. So he doesn’t say goodbye.

He’s about to leave with Jyn, and Bodhi, and Chirrut, and everyone else for Scarif when he runs into her on the tarmac.

“Cassian what- where are you going?” Her hands flit over him, before finally stilling, going to press her thumb to the cut at the top of his head, resting one hand on his shoulder. Her brows are furrowed, and she looks terrified.

“My love, I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Cassian I haven’t seen you for days,” Her eyes fill with tears, and then her hands go up to cup his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to save the Rebellion. I’ll be back, okay? We’ll all be back.” He notices her hand fall down to the chain around her neck, and he grabs that hand, bringing it up to his lips.

“Remember our after, okay?” She asks.

Something tells him to pull her in, and so he does. He holds her, and she’s got her arms wrapped around him so tightly he isn’t sure that she’ll ever let go.

“I’ll see you later,” He says. And then he pulls away, taking one last glance at her.

She nods, still playing with the ring around her neck.

“Go save the Rebellion.”

As he turns back, he mouths an “I love you,” he notices she does the same.

—————

Cassian had never thought about an afterlife. With all the death he’d seen, you’d think he had. But he never had time for it. Now, with the threat so close to him, it was all he could think about. Were the men he had killed sent to an afterlife of happiness? Were the innocent men killed here on Scarif going to be sent somewhere warm? Somewhere they could be happy? With all the destruction, all the pain he’d caused in his life to get to this final sacrifice, would he join them?

Or was the only thing waiting for him oblivion? Was that all he had?

He wasn’t sure what he would feel like in these final moments, but as he and Jyn limped to the shore, to a place of beauty in all this terror, all he felt was warmth. It wasn’t happiness, he wasn’t sure he would ever describe it as that, but it was fulfillment. They’d succeeded. They’d gotten the message out. Someone would hear.

When they finally sat down on the sand, all he could think of was her. His mind drifted. Every moment of her laughter, every second of her smile, every time she said hello. And he never said goodbye.

He still wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. If the goodbye would have made this any less painful for either of them. He couldn’t be sure. But as the light grew, as he held onto Jyn as tightly as he could, imagining it was her, he just knew he wanted nothing more than to see her one last time.

He took a breath.

It was warm, the light. He could feel it getting closer. He felt every second as it passed, felt them as if they were stretching into hours.

And all he could think of was her.

He thought about his promise of after. His promise that he’d be back. He wished he could have that life on Alderaan. Wished he could have a house with her, wished he would get to see her walk down an aisle.

The heat grew stronger, still.

Cassian wondered if she wanted kids. What they might’ve looked like if they’d ever gotten the chance.

Warmer.

Soon enough, it was almost too much for Cassian to take. He gripped Jyn tighter. He was scared. And then he could feel the light, feel it all around him, see it through his closed eyes.

Until we meet again, my love.

Cassian Andor took his final breath, hoping to see her again.

I don’t know if I’ll write more Cassian or not?? But I don’t have a taglist for it so I’m just kinda winging it but I do know @anxieteandbiscuits​ asked me if I’d ever write Cassian and.... girl look.... i’ve done it big r.i.p though

[plasticflowering]

Ranking Every ONEUS Song Because I Have Opinions

I guess it’s time for me to embark upon this task. Come along for the ride if you’re so inclined. 

This is by no means a definitive ranking, because that’s impossible and the consumption of music is an intrinsically personal experience. But I personally like ranking things for arbitrary reasons.

Each song is ranked in order, and within those rankings I’ve assigned Tiers. Enjoy.

Note: this includes only studio tracks officially released by RBW or KissEnt, which means I’m sadly not including the Road to Kingdom songs. Actually, wait, you wanna know what? The real reason I’m not including Road to Kingdom songs is because I’m still salty that my favorite song from that show is one that didn’t get a studio release. Justice for Warrior’s Descendant. 

Let’s begin. 

I’ll start things off with the top tier, the best of the best, my absolute favorite ONEUS songs. Now what should I name a tier that represents the pinnacle of what ONEUS can offer us? 

Black-Haired Seoho Tier  

1. “Valkyrie”

This song goes places. It's the one that made me fall in love with ONEUS and it's still my favorite, oops.

2. “Blue Sky”

"Blue Sky” defies genre to me. The first time I heard it, I was blown away. It has some of my favorite vocals AND two of my favorite raps in their discography - I love Leedo and Ravn's "ballad raps" in general but this is my favorite.

3. “BingBing”

So full of personality. Such an earworm. Emotional and kinda unsetlling lyrics. Xion speaking French? OKAY. It's title track worthy, for sure, so it's a shame it gets so overlooked by casual listeners. I’m glad the fanbase has at least given it the legendary status it deserves. 

4. “Lost”

Was not expecting this one to enter my top ten with turbo boosters, but I started to listen to it a lot last year and in the process I started to feel things for this song that I previously have only felt for “Blue Sky”

5. “Plastic Flower”

It me.

6. “Rewind"

It’s all about the synth hook, to me. I am pathetically manipulable where good synth hooks are concerned. Also, the cadence and arrangement of this song reminds me of “Lost” and that’s never a bad thing.

7. “Dizzy” 

I just feel like this is where they all shine as a vocal ensemble. Their personalities shine through in Dizzy, and I'm a sucker for that emotive sort of performing. 

8. “Incomplete"

Right in a row here, you’ve got two sets of “my favorite song on the album” followed by “what I believe to be the best song on the album”. “Incomplete” is the best song on “DEVIL”. The lyrics are amazing and, this may sound weird, but as a Human in Their Thirties the lyrics hit even harder. Bonus points for guitar, as always.

9. “Dead or Alive” 

I’ll never get over how strange and wonderful this song is, and yes I do believe it’s the best song on “LIVED”. (Vee shouts through a megaphone again about how “Dead or Alive” incorporates musical themes or lyrical elements from every other song on “LIVED” and hopes someone listens). Also (vee voice) guitars.

10. “Lit”

“Lit” just rules and I don’t believe there’s much I can add that has not already been said about it 

Leedo Face Scrunch Tier 

Now for those songs that are still my favorites, and make the world an immensely better place for existing, but don’t quite crack the ultimate ONEUS songs pantheon. 

11. “No Diggity”

I'm a simple person, okay? I love bright and poppy songs but I'm also weak for unapologetic bangers, and "No Diggity" is an UNAPOLOGETIC BANGER. I think the guitars are (unsurprisingly) what takes this song to the next level for me. The arrangement in general is so impressive, and it’s obvious that they balanced it well to make use of all the members’ individual strengths. RIP my bias though.

12. “Crazy & Crazy”

The "Crazy & Crazy" appreciator has logged on! When Ravn said "hakuna matata 원하면 이뤄져 bibbidi-bobbidi-BOO", I felt that!!! If I ever get to go to a ONEUS concert and god forbid meet any of you there, I cannot be held responsible for how HAM I will go during this song. 

13. “Hide and Seek”

I’m weak for this funky little bass-driven bop. 

14. “Red Thread”

I don’t ever feel like I truly have gone in hard for a group until I start proselytizing their ballads to my unsuspecting friends. Ballads have a high barrier of entry in K-Pop especially, but my god!! MY GOD!!! This is a god-tier ballad. 

15. “808″

They threw every single synth possible at the wall with “808″ and it absolutely sends me with how well it works. It’s undeniably “a Japanese single,” if you know what I mean, but even with that I think it’s one of their strongest title tracks. The chorus is endlessly singable, too, and that means a lot to me while I’m listening to it while doing the dishes, which I do a lot.

16. “Leftover”

I believe that Seoho and Ravn team songwriting will save our souls, and this song is one more reason to do so. I love that their songs aren’t just straight-up R&B (not that I don’t love R&B), and that there’s something very playful and unique about them. 

17. “Zig Zag”

I’ll never forget you, “Zig Zag,” or the way Keonhee absolutely owns your vocals. In fact, if I had to assign an image song to every member I would most likely assign “Zig Zag” to Keonhee.  18. “Lion Heart"

As far as “weird little song” vibes go, “Lion Heart” really wins. Has undoubtedly one of the weirdest moments in any ONEUS song in the first post-chorus, and I’ll never shut up about the implied lore associations. 

19. “Hero” 

In every ToMoon's life, there is that indelible moment when they first heard Seoho's pre-pre-chorus vocals on "Hero" and suddenly realized so much about life and love and the nature of miracles. And, less dramatically, I love a good rap that uses the word biscuit.

Road to Kingdom Era Xion Tier 

I became a Xion bias in Road to Kingdom era, so this is not meant disparagingly. These are those songs that show so much promise and goodness, and make me love them, but are kind of an acquired taste so to speak. 

20, “BBUSYEO”

I always love BBUSYEO when it shuffles up, but I never like... seek it out, you know? Even if it is a bop. It’s just a silly little hetero love song that includes toilet humor, and it goes. I love that for it! 

21. “Come Back Home”

It's all about the build up here. This song has such a beautiful arrangement that builds to something, dare I say, epic. Good background music for taking a dramatic walk when it’s like, -this- close to raining. 

22. “To Be Or Not To Be”

This song works in the context of ONEUS mythology and lore but I tend not to really put it on my playlists if I'm simply wanting to experience an emotion or bust out some fun jams. It is a very strange time signature for a jam, but it’s too up-tempo to really be a mood setter. 

23. “Intro: Time"

This intro is like... beautiful, but also kind of slutty, and I love that?

24. “A Song Written Easily”

It's good! It's fun! I really like it, I think it's lovely. But it’s not a song I’m going to rec to a friend and assume it will give them an adequate view of what ONEUS is. If anything I’d expect they’d just be like “that was really fun, but it just makes me want to listen to Blood Sweat & Tears.” “and I’d go “yeah me too.”

25. “Twilight” 

I overplayed the fuck out of this song when I was first getting into ONEUS, so forgive me for ranking it low. Also, there is a high barrier of entry here for casual listeners even if it is a classic. Do you ever really think about how weird “Twilight” is? Like, the song structure? It’s very weird. I love it. 

26. “Stand By”

I decided to make "Stand By" my charity case after seeing a few people dismiss it as their least favorite off Fly With Us, and I wound up loving it so much. That bridge is crazy good! Vocal line  blessing us. 

27. “Intro: Fly Me to the Moon”

As far as intros go, this is god tier honestly. But it's still only an intro, and I always feel cheated out of a beautiful full song when I hear this. Like, even for an INTRO it feels short. 

My Complicated Feelings About A Thousand Stars Tier

28. “A Thousand Stars”

I just made an entirely separate post about this. 

That Overenthusiastic Thicc Ssam Ravn Made for Seoho That One Time Tier

Like, there’s a lot here. I like all the parts individually but something about them just doesn’t go down easily. 

29. “Youth”

I’ll be honest, I love “Youth” and I think it’s an absolutely beautiful song with a great hook. I’m just firmly out of the demographic for it at this point and that’s a bit alienating. It’s also weak compared to other songs on “DEVIL”

30. “Intro: Devil is in the Details”

It’s a great intro that does some ambitious things, but on its own it doesn’t hold up as well. Intimidating. 

31. “Intro: Lived”

I love Leedo and Ravn, but I don't like how this one opens. That said, I love the way this ends. 

32. “White Night”

The fact that I had to rank this so low, when it's such a gorgeous ballad, drives home how many pure bangers ONEUS has. I love this song, but I don't really jam out to it, so it's lower in my ranking. 

33. “What you doing?”

Please don’t judge me too harshly for this. I just feel like this song could have been performed by another group and there would have been no appreciable difference. I like Cosmik’s songs, but they’re not, in my opinion. the most ONEUS of the ONEUS songs. Which is weird since Cosmik is a bit synonymous with ONEUS. Anyway Keonhee sounds great in this song.

34. “Now”

Same as above, but this one has the added problem of never really going anywhere. That said, the bridge slaps. 

35. “Airplane”

I guess one of the proper tracks on Lived had to rank low, and for me it's definitely Airplane. When I listen to it, I have fun, but it's very... how do I put this nicely? Generic. The stages elevated it, absolutely, and otherwise it might rank even lower sadly.

36. “I.P.U.”

I don’t know how to put this nicely, but the only way I want to listen to this song is if ONEUS is singing it in concert, at which point I can imagine it being very emotional. It’s a special song for special occasions and I’m not going to listen to it to have fun. 

37. “Outro: Connect with US”

You’d think I’d love the government-assigned SeoJo song, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s okay. 

38. “Eye Contact” 

By the time this song hits the chorus, it always gets me and I love it. But the verses leave something to be desired imo. It is firmly a mid-tier song to me, and I feel like this particular musical formula was much better in “Now.” Also please don’t make eye contact with me I have social anxiety. 

ZigZag’s Cursed Live Audio Tier

Unfortunate.

39. “Level Up”

WHY is this song so low??? Every time I hear it start I get so hyped up, but I feel like it never delivers on that hype fully. It feels too mid-tempo and generic for what the mix promises. I don't know. I can't explain it. The bridge doesn't lead up to much and that always feels like a betrayal. And because it has so much potential I’m even more disappointed about that.

40. “Intro: Light Us”

I have absolutely no opinion about this intro

41. “English Girl”

I’m way too queer and old for this song. :/ 

42. “In My Arms”

I don't feel their personalities at all in this song, which makes it stand out from almost all their other tracks. It just doesn't sound like a ONEUS song, to me.

43. “Kiseki”

A rare song that I skip when shuffling through the ONEUS discography

44. “Koisii”

The other rare song I skip when shuffling through the ONEUS discography, but also I would fight it if given the opportunity.